the education of the will - jules payot

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THE EDUCATIONOF THE WILL

The Theory and Practise of Self-Culture

BY

JULES PAYOT, Litt.D., Ph.D.Rector of the Academy of Aix, France

Authorized Translation by

SMITH ELY JELLIFFE, M.D., Ph.D.Visiting Neurologist, City Hospital, New York; Physician New York

Neurological Hospital; Clinical Professor of Psychiatry, Ford-ham University, New York; Translator of Dubois's "The

Psychic Treatment of Nervous Disorders," etc.

From the Thirtieth French Edition

SIXTH AMERICAN EDITION

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANYNEW YORK AND LONDON

COPYBIGHT, 1909

BY

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

Published, October, 1009

e. L I

DEDICATIONTo M. TH. EIBOT

Director of the Eevue Philosophique

Professor of Experimental Psychology at the College de

France

With sincere affection and respect,

-J. P.

422864

CONTENTSPage

Preface to the first edition vii

Preface to the second edition xiv

Preface to the twenty-seventh edition .... xxi

THEORETICAL SECTION

BOOK I PRELIMINARIES

I. The Evils to be Overcome 3

II. The Aim to Pursue 23

III. Discouraging and False Theories Concerning

the Education of the Will . . ;.- . . 30

BOOK II THE PSYCHOLOGY OFTHE WILL

I. A Study of the Role that Ideas Play in the

Will . . . , 53

II. The Role of the Emotional States in the Will 70

III. The Kingdom of Intelligence . . . . . 100

BOOK III THE INTERNAL MEASURES

I. The Part of Meditative Reflection in the Edu-

cation of the Will 141

II. What Meditation Means and How to Meditate 198

III. The Role of Action in the Education of the

Will 208

CONTENTS

Page

IV. Bodily Hygiene, Considered from the Point of

View of the Student's Education of His

Will 247

V. A General Glance . . . . . . ... 289

PRACTICAL SECTION

BOOK IV PRIVATE MEDITATIONS

I. The Enemies to Combat: Sentimental Day-

Dreams and Sensuality . . *"..' . . 295

II. Enemies to Combat: Companions, Acquaint-

ances, etc - .' * . . 344

III. Enemies to Combat : Sophisms of the Indolent 355

IV. Joys of Work . . . .\ e-

BOOK V THE RESOURCES OF OURENVIRONMENT

I. Public Opinion, Professors, etc 389

II. Influence of the "Departed Great" V * .412

Conclusion

[vi]

PREFACE TO THE FIRSTEDITION

"What is so admirable is that they recognizethe need of a master and of instruction in all

other affairs and study them with some care.

It is only the science of life which they do

not study at all, and which they do not de-

sire to comprehend."

NICOLE "Treatise on the Necessity of

Not Trusting to Chance."

IN the seventeenth century and during a

part of the eighteenth, religion held supreme

sway over the mind : the problem of the edu-

cation of the will could not present itself in

all its generalities. The forces wielded bythe Catholic Church, that incomparable mis-

tress of character, were sufficient to regulate

along its broader lines the life of the believer.

But to-day this instruction has been elimi-

nated by the majority of thinking men, andit has never been replaced. Newspapers, re-

[vii]

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

views, and even novels, vie with one another

in depreciating the present unimportant role

played by the will.

This universal neglect of the will has

attracted the attention of physicians. But

these physicians of the mind are unfortu-

nately permeated with the prevalent doc-

trines of psychology. In the matter of the

will, they attribute a special importance to

the intelligence. They argue that what welack is a metaphysical theory substantiated

from the outside. Their ignorance is quite

excusable. It is a law recognized in polit-

ical economy that cultivation always shifts

from the ground which is the softest but

most unproductive to that which is the

most fertile but the hardest to till. Thesame rule applies in the field of psychological

science.

Before approaching the essential phenom-

ena, the explanation of which is difficult, a

study has been made of the simplest appear-

ances, the conduct of which is of little im-

portance. It is difficult to realize how insig-

nificant is the influence on the character of a

simple idea. The will is a sentimental power,


and every idea, in order to influence it, has

to be colored with passion.

If the mechanism of the will is studied at

close quarters, it will be seen that metaphys-ical theories are of little importance, and

that there is no inclination deliberately fol-

lowed which is not capable, by the intelligent

use of our psychological resources, of influ-

encing our entire life. A miser sacrifices

every physical satisfaction; he eats poor

food, sleeps on a hard bed, lives without

friends, without pleasures, all for the love of

money. This being the case, why should

not an idea less degraded have the powerof shaping our destiny? The fact is, that

one does not realize how varied are the

means offered by psychology to give us the

power of becoming what we would like

to be.

Unfortunately, up to the present time verylittle attention has been given to the study of

our resources from this point of view.

The spirits which have directed the train

of European thought for the last thirty yearshave been divided by two theories, which are

the pure and simple antitheses of the theory

[W


of the education of the will. The first con-

sists in treating character as an immovable

block over which we have no control. This

infantile theory will be dealt with later on.

The second seems apparently in keeping with

the education of the will. It is the theory of

the free agent. Stuart Mill himself x

goesso far as to say that this theory has given its

supporters a keen perception of "personalculture/' In spite of this assertion of a de-

terminist, we do not hesitate in consideringthe theory of the free agent as dangerous to

the mastery of self as is the preceding one,

and as definitely discouraging. It has, in

fact, led one to consider self-enfranchisement

as something easy and natural when it is in

reality a task of long duration, a task which

requires much patience, and which demandsa very precise knowledge of psychological

resources.

Through its very simplicity, this theory has

deterred many keen and subtle minds from

the study of the states of the will. It has

thus caused to psychology, and it may be said

to humanity, an irreparable loss.

i< 'Logic," II, Book VI, Chap. II. Paris, F. Alcan.


This is why this book is dedicated to

M. Ribot. It is dedicated less to our old pro-

fessor, to whom we owe our taste for psycho-

logical research, than to the man of initiative,

who was the first man in France to expel

metaphysics from psychology. First in the

field, he resolutely set aside the investigation

of the nature of the phenomena of conscience,

in order to study as a scholar the antecedents

and the unconditional concomitants of the in-

tellectual and volitional states. This method,it must be borne in mind, is in no way meta-

physical. It does not exclude psychologyfrom metaphysics, but simply metaphysicsfrom psychology, which is a very different

matter. It consists in treating psychology as

a science. The aim of the scholar is not sim-

ply to acquire knowledge, but to turn his

knowledge to account.

The fact that the undulatory theory of light

is only an unverifiable hypothesis, is of little

value to the physician so long as the hypo-thesis succeeds; and what does it matter to

the psychologist if his hypothesis for in-

stance, the hypothesis of the absolute correla-

tion of the nervous and psychologic states

[xi]


is unverifiable so long as it succeeds? To

succeed, to be able to anticipate events, to

turn them to our advantage, and in a phraseto shape our destiny here is the role of the

scholar, and hence that of the psychologist.

This, at least, is the conception we have

formed of our task.

We have had to investigate the causes of

the weakness of the will. We thought that the

remedy was to be found in the careful culture

of affective states.' ' The means of forming and

strengthening methods of self-enfranchise-

ment, of annihilating or suppressing impres-sions antagonistic to self-mastery,

"might

have been the subtitle of the book we are

offering to the public. This road has been

untraveled; we have given our share of con-

tributive effort to an important task. Instead

of treating the education of the will "in ab-

stracto," we have taken as the essential

subject "the education of the will such as is

demanded by prolonged and persevering in-

tellectual work." We are convinced that

students and intellectual workers generallywill find here much very useful informa-

tion. I have heard many young peo-

[xii]


pie complain of the absence of a method in

arriving at self-mastery. I am offering themthe results of nearly four years of study and

meditation on the subject.

JULES PAYOT.

Chamouni, August 8, 1893.

PREFACE TO THE SECONDEDITION

THE encouraging reception given by the

foreign and domestic press and an enthusi-

astic public, who exhausted a first edition in

a few weeks, proves that the appearance of

this book was timely, and that it fulfils the

urgent need of an enlightened public.

We thank our numerous correspondents,

and especially those students of law and med-

icine who have sent us such valuable docu-

ments in praise of the first chapter of BookV. Some of them take exception to our ' '

pes-

simism." Never, they say, has youth talked

so much about action. Alas! to talk is of

little value when we must act. It seems that

the majority of young people confound noise

and agitation with creative action. Some,and those the best qualified to speak, think

that the youth of the schools consists for the

most part of dilettanti and weaklings. Nowdilettanteism and weakness are two diseases

of the will which it is necessary to try to

[xiv]

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

cure. The practical part of the education of

the will has encountered hardly anything but

unmixed praise. The same can not be said

of Chapter III (Book I) and Chapter I

(Book II). We expected to be opposed on

these points, but many of the critics, we think,

have passed to one side of the question.

We have never made the assertion that the

imagination is devoid of all influence on the

will. We have laid great stress, it is true, on

the role played in our volitions by instinctive

promptings and habits. But we maintain in

one place that the superior will consists in

submitting our tendencies to our ideas; and

in another, that the imagination has directly

and immediately no power over the " brute

force of our lower natures. " The power of

the imagination over such adversaries is in-

direct; it must, under pain of failure, get

help from other sources that is to say,

from the affective states.

It is a curious fact that, while we were

prepared to see our theory of liberty chal-

lenged by the defenders of the free agent, it

is rather the partizans of the theory of the

innateness of character who have taken us

[XV]


into account. Moreover, the theory of the

free agent seems to be discarded more and

more by teachers who find that they have to

deal, not with abstraction but with living

realities. On this subject, I have been told

that M. Marion, who is a great authority in

these matters, indicated with vehemence in

his lecture course of 1884-85 the practical

harm that has been done to us by the meta-

physical hypothesis of the free agent in pre-

venting us from studying the conditions of

real liberty. M. Marion, in the preface to

his thesis on moral solidity, opposes the

formula of M. Fouillee that the idea of our

freedom makes us free. In simply believing

we are free, we never realize the extent of

our freedom, and this view, therefore, is

more true than useful. Nothing is more ob-

vious than that we are not really free until

we have learned to gain our liberty by a hard

struggle.

As for the reproach that has been madethat the author has not made enough of in-

nate character, it seems to us that this rests

on an imperfect conception of what char-

acter is.


A character is not a simple substance. It

is a complicated result of tendencies and

ideas. In short, to affirm the innateness of

a character is to affirm many absurdities.

First of all, it is assuming that a resultant,

a mass of heterogeneous elements, a methodof grouping forces, can be innate, which is

unintelligible. It is assuming, moreover,that one can obtain, at the state of perfect

purity, an innate element that can be de-

tached from the maze woven by the influences

of environment and education, which is im-

possible. The impossibility imposes on us the

greatest diffidence in fixing the role played

by innateness.

Lastly, to affirm that the character is in-

nate implies an assertion against which our

intimate experience, the experience of teach-

ers and of the whole of humanity, rebels

the assertion that the essential elements of

character and tendencies are forever un-

changeable. We prove that there is nothingin this theory (II., iii), and that one can mod-

ify, repress, or strengthen a sentiment. If

the whole of humanity was not of this opin-

ion, one would not give one 's self the trouble

[xvii

]


of bringing up children. Nature would take

care of them herself by her immutable laws.

These theoretical views are sufficient to in-

validate the doctrine of the innateness of

character. One should read, to complete the

conviction, the recent works on character,1

and particularly the last part of the work

by M. Paulhan. It will be seen that there

exists for the most part plurality of types in

the same individual; that evolution makes

tendencies disappear, or produces new ones

as time goes on, that the substitutions of

character in the same individual are frequent.

What does this prove, except that nothing is

so rare as character!

The vast majority of children present the

spectacle of an anarchy of tendencies. Hasnot education rightly as its aim the task of

organizing the disorder and producing sta-

bility and uniformity? Often indeed, whenone thinks the work completed, arrives the

crisis of puberty, which, like a wind-storm,

overthrows everything; anarchy recom-

mences, and if the young man, henceforth

iBibot, Eevue philos., November, 1892; Paulhan, "LesCaracteres," 1 vol. 237 pages, 1894, F. Alcan; Perez,

"Le caractere de 1 'enfant a 1'homme," 1892, F. Alcan.

[xviii

]


alone, does not take his share in the task of

moral unification, if he does not forge his

character, he will become one of those "mar-

ionettes" of which we speak.

Moreover, if character was innate, if everyone found everything complete, and, as a gift

with which to celebrate the joyous advent of

his birth, each man found the unity of life,

it ought to be possible to find characters

around us. Where are they?Is it the political world which furnishes us

with them? Except for lofty exceptions

which render the contrast painful, one rarely

sees whole lives directed toward a superior

goal; the dispersal of ideas and inclinations

is great; agitation is common, and fruitful

actions are rare. One finds too often the

souls of children in the bodies of men.

Who could fail to have observed in litera-

ture, after the terrible hurricane of 1870, an

almost complete unanimity among those whoheld the pen to consecrate their efforts to

the glorification of the human animal? Andwhat shows the justice of the opinion of

Manzoni *is that heredity goes just as far

i Cf. page 208.

[xix]


toward lessening as toward increasing the

passions.

Instead of stimulating what is greatest and

noblest in ourselves, almost all writers have

appealed to our inferior instincts; they have

considered all our instincts as confined to the

spinal cord. Instead of a literature for

thinkers, they have given us a literature for

moral decadents.

But why continue? If character implies

unity and stability, if it implies orientation

toward higher ends, it can not be innate.

This unity and this stability,which are repug-nant to the natural anarchy we possess, must

be mastered slowly. Those who can not, or

will not, pretend to it, must at the same time

renounce that which constitutes the greatness

of the human personality, which is, liberty

and the mastery of self.

JULES PAYOT.

Bar-le-Duc, January 12, 1894.

PREFACE TO THE TWENTY-SEVENTH EDITION

IN thirteen and a half years the "Educa-tion of the Will" has reached its twenty-seventh edition, and it has been translated

into most European tongues. Such a suc-

cess proves how great a need the book has

filled. The publication of the letters which

the author has received constitutes a docu-

ment of vital interest on the mental attitude

of the young people of our time.

The age to which we belong is conducive

to mental unrest. Neither in dogmas nor in-

stitutions can be found the peace of mindwhich comes from the certitude of complete

repose. Even Catholicism itself, which at

one time offered a secure sanctuary for the

unsettled mind, is full of the most serious

internal dissensions.

In politics, sociology and morals no prin-

ciple remains undiscust. Secondary educa-

tion, knowing nothing of the will, remains

almost exclusively intellectual. From the

moral point of view, it is an ineffectual com-

promise between precedent and innovation.

[xxi]

PREFACE TO TWENTY-SEVENTH EDITION

Young people start in life with a handicap:

they have not been trained to patience long

sustained, to disinterestedness, to methodical

skepticism, all of which go to constitute the

philosophical spirit.

Their tendency is toward intolerance, and

this because the great doctrine of the rela-

tiveness of knowledge has not penetrated

their practical rule of life. A discipline of

liberty has not instilled in them the habit of

looking for "the soul of truth," which gives

birth to new ideas. They take sides too soon,

and from that moment they are useless for

the elaboration of superior syntheses, or, in

other words, for the search after truth.

Every man should apply himself with all

his soul to the truth. It is in this that free-

dom consists in the infusion of one's per-

sonal attitude with the realities of life.

To be free means, therefore, that one real-

izes the laws which register the exterior and

interior realities of life, and that one real-

izes one's self. If these two conditions are not

fulfilled, the complete and harmonious de-

velopment of the personality is impossible.This double consciousness, moreover, can


only be acquired by action. In observing the

effects of action on one's self, little by little

the cloak of prejudice and suggestion which

conceals our deeper tendencies is penetrated,

and the fundamental ego is revealed. Emer-

son remarks that his duty is something which

has to do with his own personality, and not

with the opinions of others a rule as hard

to apply in the practical as in the intellectual

life, but which can take the place of all dis-

tinction between greatness and littleness.

We must therefore have a distinct conscious-

ness of ourselves if we wish to fulfil our

personal destiny completely. If we do not

know ourselves, we become the sport of cir-

cumstances, of suggestions, and of erroneous

beliefs which mar our development and giveit a direction which does violence to our fun-

damental tendencies.

Realizing ourselves and taught by realities

in the midst of which we move, in order to

fulfil our destiny we only have to treat with

the law of causation. It is thus with the

commander of a vessel. It is the tendency of

the waves to swallow him up ;he obliges them

to support him, in the same way that he com-

[xxiii]


pels a contrary wind to take him to port.

Not only does reflex action lay bare our fun-

damental tendencies, but it renders almost

tangible the great moral law which dominates

our social structure. The expansion of mypersonality and the proportionate value of

my cooperation in the common task dependfor a large part on the richness, intellectual

and moral, of other men. My highest indi-

vidual power coincides with the greatest de-

gree of outside support and of justice.

But the slow exploration of our funda-

mental tendencies and the intelligent de-

velopment of our will, subjected to the law of

cause and effect, make repose necessary. Wemust resist the dilettante habits acquired byan early encyclopedic training; we must re-

sist the terrifying mental dissipation of use-

less reading, and the trepidation of contem-

porary life. Tranquillity is required before

a solution will form into crystals of regular

beauty. In the same way, we need meditation

if we would mold our fundamental person-

ality into good, energetic habits.

JULES PAYOT.

Chamouni, April 10, 1907.

[xxivj

THEORETICAL SECTION

BOOK I

PRELIMINARIES

THE EVILS TO BE OVERCOME

The Various Forms Under Which a Weak Will MakesItself Manifest in the Student and in the Intel-

lectual Worker.

CALIGULA wished that all the Eomans mighthave had only one head, so that he could

decapitate them with a single stroke. It is

unnecessary for us to entertain a similar

wish concerning the enemies we have to com-

bat, for there is only one cause of almost all

our failures and of nearly all our misfor-

tunes. This is the weakness of our will,

which shows itself in our distaste for effort,

especially for persistent effort. Our passive-

ness, thoughtlessness and dissipation of

energy are only so many names to designatethe depths of universal laziness, which is to

\^human nature as gravity is to matter.

The only real antagonist that can effect

the persevering will must be found in a con-

tinued force. The passions are by nature

transitory; the more violent they are, the

[3]

THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL

shorter their duration, except in those rather

rare cases where they attain a fixity and a

force bordering on insanity, therefore their

intermittent character does not permit us to

consider them as true obstacles to continuityof effort. There is time enough between the

intervals of their attacks for a great amountof work. The real obstacle lies in a funda-

mental ever-present state of the mind which

may be called effeminacy, apathy, idleness, or

laziness. To arouse one's self constantly to

fresh efforts and to renew daily the struggle

against this natural state of mind is the only

way in which we may dare hope for victory.

We call this state of mind fundamental,but we may as well call it natural. Indeed,

[any continued effort is not kept up long by

I man, except under pressure of necessity.

Travelers are unanimous in their statements

that, among uncivilized races, there is an

absolute incapacity for all persevering effort.

M. Eibot thoughtfully remarks that the first

efforts of voluntary attention were probablyeffected by women who were constrained byfears of blows to regular labor while their

masters rested or slept. Have we not, with

[4]


our own eyes, seen the redskins disappearing,

preferring to be exterminated rather than

attempt any regular labor which would givethem a greater degree of comfort in life?

Without going so far for familiar ex-

amples, we may observe how slowly a child

settles down to regular work. How few are

the farmers and laborers who try to do better

work than that which was done before their

day, or that which is being done by their fel-

lows. You may, with Spencer, make a men-

tal review of all the objects which you use

during the day, and you will find that there

is not one which could not be better adaptedto the use which is made of it by some slight

effort of intelligence, and you will conclude

with the author ' ' that it really seems as if the

aim of the great majority was to get throughlife with the least possible outlay of

thought."

If we go back to our student days, how

many workers could we cite among our class-

mates? Did not almost all put forth onlythe minimum effort necessary to pass their

examinations? And since those college dayshow difficult all personal effort and all con-

1*1


centrated reflection has seemed ! In all coun-

tries students can stand well in examinations,

by the simple efforts of their memory. Their

ideals, alas! are not very high. What they

desire, as M. Maneuvrier has very astutely

remarked, concerning his own country,

France, are "official positions which are

badly salaried and of little account, without

any future or horizon, where the person agesas an employee and daily participates in the

nothingness of an almost sterile occupation,

to the decay and gradual numbing of his

faculties, but, in which he rejoices unspeak-

ably, in not being obliged to think or decide

or act. A tutelary regulation impresses on

his activity the regular movements of a clock,

and excuses him from the fatiguing privilege

of acting and living.' '

But one really ought not to put all the

blame upon those in official positions. No

profession, no career, however elevating it

may be, is able of itself to safeguard one's

personality, or vigor, or energy. During the

earlier years of life the mind is capable of

very active exercises, but soon the number of

new combinations, the number and the pos-

[6]


sibility of the cases which make effort, reflec-

tion and research necessary diminish. The

accomplishment of the highest functions

which apparently demand powerful mental

efforts, becomes purely a matter of habit.

The lawyer, magistrate, physician, and pro-

fessor, all live on an acquired fund of knowl-

edge which very rarely increases and then

only very slowly. The desire for effort di-

minishes from year to year, and from year to

year fewer occasions arise which would

bring these superior faculties of the mindinto play. Kuts are thus formed in the mind,the intellect becomes deadened for lack of

exercise, and with it the attention, the re-

flective faculties and the power of reasoning.

If one does not cultivate some intellectual

pursuits, one can not avoid the gradual torporwhich will steal over one's energy.

Now as our book is addrest chiefly to stu-

dents and intellectual workers, it is necessaryto examine very closely the forms which the

"evil to combat" takes among them.

The gravest form of evil among students

is that atony, that "languor of the mind,"which manifests itself in all the actions of


the young man. He sleeps several hours too

long and gets up feeling stupid, dull and lazy.

He slowly and yawningly makes his toilet,

losing thereby considerable time. He does

not feel very "fit," he has no inclination for

work. He finds this a sad cold world. His

laziness is apparent on his very face, his

languor is written on every line of it, his man-

ner is vague, dull and preoccupied; there is

neither vigor nor precision in his movements.

After this lost time he lingers over his break-

fast, reading the newspaper through even to

the advertisements, because that occupieshim without requiring any effort on his part.

In the afternoon, however, some of his energycomes back, but this is soon wasted in gossip-

ing, in useless discussions, and, what is worse

(as all idlers are envious), in slander. Poli-

ticians, literary men and professors all comein for their share of his criticism. In the late

evening this unfortunate youth retires a little

more irritable than he was the night before.

For this atony or sloth, with which he ap-

proaches his work, is with him most of the

time in his pleasures. No joy is attained

without some difficulty in this world. All

[8]


happiness presupposes some effort. To read

a book, to visit a museum, to take a walk in

the park, are pleasures demanding initiative.

They are active pleasures. But active pleas-

ures are the only ones which count, the onlyones which can be indefinitely renewed at

one's pleasure. Lazy people inflict uponthemselves the emptiest lives imaginable.

They allow pleasures to slip through their

fingers, because it is too much trouble to close

their hand. St. Jerome facetiously comparesthem to wooden soldiers who always have

their swords raised, without ever striking a

blow.

Fundamental laziness in no way hinders

periodic instances of energy. Uncivilized

people are by no means averse to occasional

outbursts of energy. What is so distasteful

to them is that regulated persistent labor

which in the end amounts to a very superior

degree of energy. Any regular expenditureof energy, even tho it be slight, accomplishesmore than great efforts separated by longrests. Idlers can readily endure war, which

demands momentary violent efforts, followed

by long periods of inactivity. The Arabs


conquered a vast empire, but they did not

hold it, because they were not able to keep

up the continued effort of organizing and ad-

ministrating the country, such as makingroads, and founding schools and industries.

Even lazy students, when whipt up by the ap-

proach of an examination, are able to buckle

down to slight but steady exertion, which has

to be kept up, every day for months and

years. It is so true that moderate, but con-

tinued, effort alone expresses real and fruit-

ful energy, that we may consider all work

deviating from this type as lazy work. It

goes without saying that continued work im-

plies continuity of direction. Therefore the

energy of the will expresses itself less by mul-

tiple efforts than by the direction of all the

forces of the mind down to hard work, but

what they hate is that toward one definite end.

Here is a type of laziness that is very fre-

quent. A young man is lively, gay and ener-

getic; he is rarely idle. During the day he

reads some treatise on geology, an article byBrunetiere on Eacine; he glances throughseveral journals ;

rereads some notes;makes

a rough sketch of a theme, and translates a

[10]


few pages of a foreign language. He has not

been indolent for a single moment. His com-

rades admire his working power and the

variety of his occupations. Yet we must

brand this young man as a lazy student. Tothe psychologist, this great variety of work

simply indicates a certain spontaneous atten-

tion, rich in its ability, but which has not as

yet become voluntary attention. This appar-ent power for varied work means nothingmore than a great weakness of the will. Ourstudent furnishes us a very common type of

laziness which we may call the disseminated

type. Such "mental excursions"1

are truly

delightful, but they are only pleasure strolls.

Nicolle describes those workers who flit here

and there to no purpose as having "buzzingminds. " They are, to recall Fenelon's simile,

"like a lighted candle set in a windy place."

The great disadvantage in scattering one's

efforts is due to the fact, that no impressionhas time enough to become permanent. Wemay lay it down as an absolute law control-

ling all intellectual work, that if we treat all

the ideas and feelings which come into ouriLeibnitz,

< '

Theodicee," Section 56.

[11]


minds, as if they were transient guests in a

hotel, they will never be more than strangers

to us, and will soon be forgotten. We shall

see, in the following chapter, that true intel-

lectual work requires that all our efforts

should be put forth in a single direction.

This distaste for real effort, that is to say,

for the coordination of all efforts toward a

certain definite aim, is complicated by an

equally strong aversion for personal effort.

Indeed, it is one thing to bring forth a crea-

tive work or an invention, and another to

store in one 's memory that which others have

done. Moreover, if personal effort is difficult

it is because it necessarily implies coordina-

tion. The two supreme forms of intellectual

labor are inseparably united in the work of

creation. It is therefore easy to understand

how distasteful such work must be to the great

majority of pupils, who may, nevertheless,

to-morrow be made class presidents.

Students of philosophy, for example, are

good pupils so long as they are stimulated bythe final examinations. They work hard and

are generally accurate in their work. Un-

fortunately, however, they do not reflect at

[12]


all. Their laziness of spirit is shown by their

proclivity to think with words, but nothingmore. Thus, in studying psychology it never

enters their heads that they have been ma-

king practical psychology from the day of

their birth to the present time, just as M.

Jourdain found that he had been "speaking

prose without knowing it." It would be

infinitely more simple to examine themselves

and to discover personal examples instead of

committing to memory those cited in their

books. But no, they have an invincible tend-

ency to memorize rather than to seek for

themselves. The enormous amount which

they are thus obliged to stuff into their mem-ories frightens them less than the slightest

personal effort. They are nothing, if not

passive. Of course one must make some ex-

ceptions, tho they are few, of the best amongthe good students.

The experimental test for this incapacityof effort is furnished in France by the three

monthly examinations for first place. The

majority of students dread this exercise. Towrite a theme on a subject where one is not

required to make any original investigations,

[13]


but merely to rearrange the material fur-

nished by the lecturer according to a new

plan; to set forth one's exposition with that

neatness and orderly precision which the ex-

aminer requires, is, to say the least, a

thoroughly unpleasant task.

Naturally, this fairly wide-spread aversion

to personal effort accompanies the student to

the university, without, however, any dispar-

agement to him, as no examination takes the

candidate's personal worth into considera-

tion. It registers only the status of his

memory, and the level, or rather the low-

water mark, reached by the things he knows.

Any conscientious student who reflects at all

must acknowledge to himself how small a

sum of effort is put forth during the year in

any direction, except that of memorizing facts

of medicine, law, natural science, or history.

It is also curious to note the subtle forms

under which laziness manifests itself in

learned men. Laziness, it must be under-1

stood, may often accompany great labor and

prodigious undertakings, for quantity does

not by any means make up for lack of quality.

Furthermore, the quantity of work is often

[14]


prejudicial to its quality. For example,scholars freely scoff at philosophers, yet it

is for them that, like "Batto" the cat of the

fable, they pull the chestnuts out of the fire.

"Batto" is the symbol of erudite work:

. . . "And thrust out his paw in a delicate way.

First giving the ashes a scratch,

He opened the coveted batch;

Then lightly and quickly impingingHe drew out, in spite of the singeing,

One after another, the chestnuts at last,

While Bertrand continued to devour them as fast.' ' *

. . .

Such work is the kind which one can take

up and put down at pleasure. By constantly

having texts to refer to, the mind does not

need to do any creative work; it can study

profitably even when it has lost its fine

powers of penetration. Time will, perhaps,confirm the prophecies of Benan concerningthe purely erudite sciences. These have no

future, their results are uncertain and always

open to controversy; and, what is more, the

twenty thousand works which are yearly piled

up in the National Library of Paris, without

counting the journals and periodicals, will in

i From La Fontaine 's Fable, translated by Elizur Wright,

Jr.

[15]


fifty years add a million volumes to the pres-

ent collection. A million volumes ! Allowinghalf an inch for the average thickness of a

volume, it would make a pile four times the

height of Mont Blanc ! Will history, little by

little, get rid of its proper names and devote

itself to great social movements whose causes

and effects are always hypothetic, and will

pure erudition, smothered under the mass of

its own material, lose its power over the

thinking mind? Less and less will mere ac-

cumulation be considered work. The time will

come when such tasks will be called by their

real name, tasks. The word work will be

reserved for the putting forth of real energy,the elimination of trifling details, and for that

concentration which produces supreme effort

of thought. To create in reality means to

conceive an idea in its essential entirety and

to bring it forth to the light of day. To

magnify trifling details only obscures the

truth, and to the practised eye such a tend-

ency indicates in some way that certain

traces of that inherent laziness which is in

all of us are mingled even with our bursts of

intellectual energy.

[16]


It must be admitted, alas ! that the systemof instruction, in France at least, tends to

aggravate this fundamental intellectual lazi-

ness. The schedule of study in the under-

graduate courses seems devised to turn everystudent into a "

scatter-brain."

It obliges

these unfortunate youths to skim over every-

thing, and,by reason of the variety of subjects

to be absorbed, it prevents them from follow-

ing any idea to its source. How is a young manto find out that such a system of preparatoryeducation is absurd? Yet it tends to kill his

initiative and to destroy all disposition to be

loyal in his work. A few years ago the powerof the French artillery was mediocre, to-dayit is ten times stronger. Why? Because the

shell used to explode when it struck the ob-

stacle and would go off without doing any

great damage, but now, by the invention of a

special detonator, the shell, after it has struck

continues to move for a few seconds, pene-

trating into the very heart of the place of

attack, and there, in close contact with every

part, it explodes, grinding and pulverizing

everything to pieces. In our practical educa-

tion we have forgotten to add a detonator to

[17]


the mind. Our acquired knowledge is not

allowed to penetrate profoundly. We wouldlike to stop a moment, but we are urged to

continue. We did not quite grasp the point ;

the professor's idea is not clear to us. Butlike another wandering Jew, we are compelledto keep on the move. We have yet to gothrough mathematics, physics, chemistry,

zoology, botany, geology, the history of every

nation, the geography of five continents, two

living languages, several literatures, psychol-

ogy, logic, moral philosophy, metaphysics,and the history of philosophical systems. On,

on, we press on toward mediocrity and issue

from our Alma Mater with the habit of study-

ing superficially and judging everything byappearances.

This rapid pace is hardly lessened even

in the university, and, for many students, be-

comes even more rapid.

In addition, it must be remembered that

the conditions of modern life tend to reduce

our spiritual life to nothing, and bring about

mental distractions to a degree that can

hardly be surpassed. Ease of communication,

frequency of journeys, the habit of going to

[18]


the mountains, or the sea, all dissipate our

thoughts. There is not even time to read.

One lives a life that is full of excitement and

yet, at the same time, empty. The daily

papers, the artificial excitement they give to

the mind, the ease with which their items of

news lead the interest through various hap-

penings in five continents make the readingof books seem dull to many people.

How shall we resist this dissipation of

mental energy which leads to mediocrity,

when there has been nothing in our education

to prepare us for such resistance? Is it not

discouraging to think that the most impor-tant thing, the education of the will, is no-

where directly and consciously taught! All

that is done in this direction is done incident-

ally, with a view to something else. We payno attention to anything but to the stocking

up of our minds, and the will is cultivated

only so far as it may be useful in intellectual

work. Cultivated, did I say? I mean stimu-

lated, that is all. No student looks beyondthe present. To-day he is working under a

system of repression and stimulation;on the

one hand, the professor censures; there are

[19]


jibes and jokes from one's companions, and

penalties for poor work; on the other, re-

wards and praise. The morrow holds nothingbut a vague far-away glimpse of an approach-

ing examination for the bar, or for a medical

degree, which, even the laziest students,

somehow manage to pass. The education of

the will gets little attention, and yet, is

it not through his energy alone that a manis able to round out his life? Are not his

most brilliant gifts barren without inward

strength! Is not the energy of the will the

most powerful factor in every great or noble

thing that men accomplish?

Strange to say, everybody says just whatwe are saying here. Everybody feels

the disproportion between the excessive

culture of the mind and weakness of the

will. But no book has yet appeared tell-

ing just how the education of the will should

be conducted. A man hardly knows how to

start by himself upon this work which his

professors have not even outlined for him.

Ask any ten students, taken at random from

among those who are doing but little work,and their confessions will practically amount

[20]


to this. When we were at school the professor

laid out the work which we were to do each

day, even each hour. Our lessons were

clearly and definitely assigned. We had to

study such a chapter of history, such a

theorem in geometry, to write such an exer-

cise and translate such a passage. Further-

more, we were helped and encouraged, or per-

haps reprimanded. Our ambition was easily

aroused and kept up. Now everything is dif-

ferent. We have no definite set tasks. Wespend our time according to our tastes. Aswe have never been taught to take any initia-

tive in planning our work, which, moreover,was always made easy and adapted to our

weaknesses, we are exactly like men who are

thrown into deep water after having been

taught to swim with a swimming-belt. Weshall certainly sink, there is no question about

that. We neither know how to work, nor howto make ourselves work. We do not knowwhere to go to learn the method by which wecan undertake by ourselves the education of

our will, there is no practical book on this

subject. So we have become resigned and we

try not to think of "flunking

"in our exam-

[21]


illations. It is too depressing. But then

there are the societies and clubs and plentyof jolly good fellows to keep our spirits up.

Time will pass just the same.

It is this book which so many young peo-

ple complain of not having that we have

tried to write.

[22]

nTHE AIM TO PURSUE

ALTHO the college curriculum ignores the

will, we feel that we value ourselves only in

proportion to our energy, and that we never

can rely upon a man who is weak. Neverthe-

less, on the other hand, knowing that our

efforts show the approximate measure of the

strength of our will, we hardly care to be

judged by that standard. We exaggerate the

amount of work which we do. It is very easyfor a student to say that he rises at four

o'clock in the morning, knowing that no one

is likely to do him the injustice of coming to

investigate his statements. But when you

happen in upon this heroic worker at eight

o 'clock and find him still in bed, you will note

that every one of your rare visits will coincide

with some unusual occurrence, such as an

evening at the theater, or a dance, which ex-

plains the fact of his not being at work at

four in the morning. Meanwhile, you will

have noticed that this prodigious worker has

failed in his examinations.

[23]


There is no other subject among students

about which so many fibs are told. What is

more, there is no young man who does not

deceive himself, and who does not entertain

delightful illusions concerning his own workand his capacity for putting forth greatefforts. But what are these very ties if not

a homage paid to the great truth that a per-

son's worth depends on his energy!

Any doubts entertained by others concern-

ing our will power wound us cruelly. To

question our power to work, is as bad as

accusing us of weakness and cowardice. Arewe not relegated to a hopeless mediocrity if

we are considered incapable of that power of

persevering effort, without which one can

not hope to rise above the intellectual povertyof the majority of men who encumber the so-

called liberal professions.

This indirect homage paid to work provesthe existence of a desire for energy amongstudents. The only object of this book is to

examine the methods, by the use of which a

young man of vacillating inclinations maystrengthen himself in the desire to work until

it is transformed, first into firm, ardent and

[24]

THE AIM TO PURSUE

lasting resolutions, and finally into invincible

habits.

By intellectual work we understand either

the study of nature and the works of other

men, or personal productions. The work of

production first presupposes study and in-

cludes all kinds of intellectual effort. For

the first kind of work, the instrument of labor

is attention properly so called;for the second,

meditation or concentration. In both cases

it is simply a question of attention. Workmeans attention. Unfortunately attention is

not a stable, fixt, and lasting condition. It

can not be compared to a bow in constant

tension, but consists rather in a repeatednumber of efforts in which the tension is moreor less intense, and which follow one another

with greater or less rapidity. In energetic

and disciplined attention, efforts succeed each

other so closely as to give the effect of con-

tinuity, and this apparent continuity may last

a few hours each day. Hence the object of

our endeavor is to be able to put forth someeffort of intense and persevering attention.

Unquestionably one of the best ways in

which we may cultivate self-control is cour-

[25]


ageously to set for ourselves some daily task

that is difficult. Youth, in its exuberance,is constantly inclined to give predominanceto the animal life over that which appears to

be the dull unnatural life of the majority of

intellectual workers.

But strenuous and persevering efforts are

not in themselves sufficient; they may be of

the undisciplined and wandering type. Theymust, therefore, first of all be directed toward

the same end. There are certain conditions

of intimacy, continuance and repetition which

are necessary if an idea, or feeling, is to gaina foothold in our minds and remain with us.

These ideas and feelings must graduallyextend their sphere of influence, and widen

their circle of relationships, and thus little bylittle make their own personal value felt.

This is how works of art are created. Some

thought, often a living thought of youth, lies

obscurely hidden within a man of genius.

Something that he reads, some incident in life,

a happy expression uttered carelessly bysome author interested in other things, or

not familiar with that kind of thinking, but

who perceives the idea without understanding

[26]

THE AIM TO PURSUE

its fecundity, any one of these gives to the

brooding idea a consciousness of its value

and of its possible role. Henceforth, this

idea will draw nourishment from everything.

Travel, conversation, varied reading will

supply the assimilable elements, on which it

will glut and grow strong. Thus Goethe car-

ried the conception of Faust in his mind for

thirty years. It took all that time to germi-nate and grow and push its roots deeper and

deeper, and to draw from experience the

nourishing elements on which this master-

piece was developed.This ought to be the case, to a certain ex-

tent, with all important ideas. If the idea

only passes through us, it will be null and

void. It is necessary to give it repeated, fre-

quent, and careful attention. Care should

be taken, not to abandon it before it can live

independently, or before it has formed an

organized center of its own. It should for a

long time be kept in mind and often referred

to. In this way it will acquire a vitality

strong enough to attract fertile thoughts and

feelings, which it will make a part of itself

by that mysterious magnetic power called

[27]


association of ideas. This work of the organi-

zation of the idea, or sentiment, is slowly

accomplished by calm and patient meditation.

Such developments may be compared to the

wonderful crystals formed in the laboratory,

which require the slow and regular deposit

of thousands of molecules in the midst of an

absolutely still fluid. It is in this sense that

all discoveries are the product of the will.

It was "by constant thinking about it" that

Newton verified his discovery of universal

gravitation. If there is still any doubt that

genius is nothing but "eternal patience," let

us listen to Darwin's confession: "For mymeditation and reading I select only those

rsubjects which make me think directly of

what I have seen, or of what I shall probablysee. I am sure that it was this discipline

which made me capable of doing what I have

done in science.' ' His son adds :

1 1My father

had the ability to keep a subject in mind for

a great number of years without ever losing

sight of it."1

But what is the use of insisting upon such

a self-evident truth ? We may as well sum upi Life and Correspondence of Charles Darwin.

[28]

THE AIM TO PURSUE

our points. The object to be sought by the

intellectual worker is the energy of voluntary

attention, an energy which expresses itself

not only in the vigor and frequency of effort,

but also, and above all, in the perfect direc-

tion of all our thoughts toward one single

end, and by a subordination, for the time be-

ing, of our volition, feelings, and ideas to the

directing, dominating idea for which we are

striving. Human laziness will always be

tempting us away from this ideal, but we must

strive to realize it as completely as possible.

Before considering the means of transform-

ing a weak, vacillating desire into a lasting

volition, it is important to get rid of two

philosophical theories, which, tho in opposi-tion to each other, are equally disastrous to

the achievement of such self-mastery.

[29]

Ill

DISCOURAGING AND FALSE THEORIES CON-CERNING THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL

A POLEMIC should be nothing more than a

piece of preparatory work which the writer

should execute carefully, but which he should

keep to himself. Nothing is more powerlessthan pure negation. Constructive argumentis the only thing of value, criticism is useless.

Therefore, because our book is a work of

instruction, and because it sets forth a sound

doctrine that is firmly established on definite

psychological data, we shall here attack two

wide-spread theories which are as deplorablein their practical results as they are false in

their speculations.

The theory which considers character as

unchangeable is false in itself and regrettablein practise. This hypothesis, set forth byKant and repeated by Schopenhauer, is sup-

ported by Spencer.

According to Kant, we have chosen our

character in the noumenal world and our

[30]

DISCOURAGING AND FALSE THEORIES

choice is irrevocable. Once i ' descended ' '

into

the world of space and time our characters,

and consequently our wills, must remain as

they are, without our being able in the slight-

est degree to modify them.

Schopenhauer also declares that different

characteristics are innate and immutable. It

is impossible, for example, to change the

nature of the motives which affect the will of

an egotist. You may by means of education

deceive him or, better still, correct his ideas

and lead him to understand that the surest

way to attain prosperity is by work and hon-

esty, and not by knavery. But as to render-

ing his soul sensible to the suffering of others,

that idea must be renounced. That would be

more difficult than turning lead into gold.

"We may convince an egotist that, giving upa small profit, he may gain a much larger

one; or we may convince a wicked man that,

by causing pain to others, he may inflict worse

pain upon himself. But as for convincingthem of the wrong of such selfishness and de-

pravity in themselves, you can no more do

it than you can prove to a cat that it is wrongto like mice."

[31]


Herbert Spencer takes quite a different

view. He agrees with the English school that,

under certain external forces, the humancharacter can after a time be transformed

along general lines by the force of external

circumstances and varying conditions in life.

But such work requires centuries. This

theory is discouraging in practise, because I,

as a student, can not calculate on living ten

centuries. I can at most rely on only twenty

years of plasticity. Even if I wanted to set

to work on my own moral amelioration I could

not do it. I could not struggle against the

character and heritage which were bequeathedto me by my ancestors, and which represent

thousands, and perhaps millions, of years of

experience organically recorded in my brain.

What could I do against a formidable com-

bination of ancestors;as soon as I try to rid

myself of a part of the inheritance trans-

mitted to me, they array themselves against

my feeble personal will. It would be un-

reasonable even to attempt insurrection. De-

feat from the start would be certain. I may,

however, console myself by dreaming that,

in fifty thousand years, my descendants, by

[32]


the continued influence of social environment

upon heredity, will resemble so many per-

fected machines, wound up through the

ages, and will grind out devotion, initiative

spirit, etc.

Altho the question of character, seen from

this point of view, lies outside the limit of our

subject, we must nevertheless examine it in

its general aspects, in order to find out our

adversaries' strongest position.

The theories which we have just stated

seem to us to show a remarkable example of

that mental laziness, which, like original sin,

is ineffaceable from the greatest intellects;a

mental inactivity which makes them submit

passively to the suggestion of language. Weare all accustomed to think with words, but

they often conceal from us the reality of

which they are only the symbols. Because

the word itself is an entity, we are strongly

inclined to believe in the real unity of the

things it stands for. It is to this suggestion,

provoked by the word character, that we owethe lazy theory of the immutability of char-

acter. But who, for that matter, does not see

that character is only a resultant? But a

[33]


resultant of forces is always subject to modifi-

cation. Our character has a unity analogousto that of Europe. The chance of alliances, or

the prosperity or decadence of one state, con-

stantly modifies the resultant. The same is

true of our passions, sentiments and ideas

which are perpetually growing, and which, bythe alliances which they contract or break, can

change the intensity, and even the direction,

of the resultant. Our treatise will, further-

more, demonstrate the possibility of the

transformation of character.

If we examine the arguments in favor of the

theory, we find in Kant only a priori views,

and these a priori views, which he thought

necessary for the foundation of the possibility

of liberty, would have been cut out of the

system like a decayed branch, had not Kant,as we shall see, confounded fatalism with

determinism.

In Schopenhauer we find more citations of

moral failures than arguments. He is veryfond of showing his erudition by piling upauthorities. The smallest evidence of fact

will always outweigh authority. Here are

the sole arguments we can find in his works :

[34]


(1) If character were able to be improved,"one ought to find much more virtue amongthe older members of humanity than in the

younger,' ' which is not the case. (2 ) He who

has once shown himself to be wicked has for-

ever lost our confidence, which proves that

we all believe character to be unchangeable.Of what value are such arguments to any

one who reflects 1 Are they arguments at all I

What is there in these assertions, however

exact as a whole, that proves that no one can

modify his character? They only prove (andthat does not apply to every one) that the

great majority has never really and seriously

undertaken any reform of character. Theystate that one's natural propensities take

care of most matters of life, without the in-

tervention of the will. The majority of man-kind is governed by external influences. Theyfollow custom and public opinion, no more

thinking of resisting than we would dream of

refusing to follow the earth in its movements

around the sun. Is it we who raise the ques-

tion of this almost universal idleness? The

majority of men spend their lives in getting

the means of subsistence. Day-laborers, the

[35]


poor, the worldly minded, and women and

children scarcely reflect at all. They are"marionettes,

" somewhat complicated and

conscious, but whose movements are all gov-erned by impulses springing from involuntarydesires and external suggestions. Kisingfrom the animal level by slow evolution,

under pressure of the stern necessity of the

struggle for existence, the majority showa tendency toward retrogression as soon

as external circumstances cease to stimulate

them. Those who possess no ardent thirst

for the ideal, nor a certain nobility of mindwhich shall furnish any inner reason for

pursuing the difficult task of gradually ri-

sing above their animal natures, allow them-

selves to drift. There is, therefore, nothing

surprizing in the statement that the numberof virtuous old men does not surpass the

number of virtuous young men, and that one

has a perfect right to mistrust a man whohas proved himself a rogue.

This argument of Schopenhauer would be

valid if we could prove that all struggle is

useless;that a selfish man, in spite of want-

ing to do so, has never been able to make any

[36]


great self-sacrifices. Such a statement is

hardly worth considering. One sees cowards

facing death for the sake of money. There

is not a single passion which could not be

held in check by fear of death. Naturally,the egoist's most cherished possession is his

life. But have we never seen selfish men,carried away by transitory enthusiasm,

sacrificing their existence for their country,

or for some other noble cause? If this tran-

sitory state has been possible, what has hap-

pened during the time of the celebrated

operari sequitur esse ? A character which

can transform itself so radically, be it onlyfor half an hour, is not an immutable char-

acter, and there is hope of renewing this

change more and more frequently.

Moreover, where has Schopenhauer ever

met absolutely consistent characters, as, for

example, one who was an egoist from first to

last in thought and sentiment? Such a

simple setting forth of human nature has

probably never been seen;and once again,

we must say that the belief that the char-

acter is a unity, or a homogeneous block, is

based on the most superficial observation.

[37]


Character is the resultant of heterogeneous

forces, and our assertion, based on the ob-

servations of living persons and not on

abstractions, is strong enough to demolish

the naive theories of Kant and Schopen-hauer. As to Spencer, it will suffice to pointout to his followers that good tendencies are

as hereditary, and as firmly organized, as

bad ones, and that, by skilfully contriving,

one can have as much ancestral power in his

favor as against him. At all events, it is

only a question of degree, which the follow-

ing pages of this book, we hope, will decide.

Let us now leave the theory of immutable

character, as it is no longer able to stand byitself. Alas, we French, too, have our dis-

couraging theorists, chief among whom is

Taine, who, with a narrowness of view, in-

conceivable in such a great mind, was un-

able to distinguish fatalism from determin-

ism. In his reaction against Cousinian

spiritualism, he went so far as to consider

our life independent of our will, and virtue

as a manufactured product, like sugar. It

was a naive and infantile picture which, byits cynicism, deterred men for a long time

[38]


from taking up the study of psychological

determinism, and which at the time of its

appearance and for a long time after, per-

verted the meaning of M. Ribot's book on

the Diseases of the Will. It is only too true

that, in such delicate matters, a host of ad-

versaries is less to be dreaded than a sar-

castic and maladroit friend.

It now remains for us to dispose of a bold

and most alluring theory which states the

possibility of gaining the mastery over self,

since, inasmuch as it has presented the strug-

gle for freedom in too easy a light, has

caused as much, and even more, discourage-

ment than have the fatalist's theories. Werefer to the theory of free will. Free will,

which philosophers have tried to associate

with moral liberty, has in reality nothing to

do with that, for to lead young people to be-

lieve that any such long and arduous under-

taking as the task of achieving one's free-

dom can be accomplished with perfect ease,

merely by proclaiming that they are free, is

to doom them to discouragement from the

very beginning. As soon as the young man's

enthusiasm has been aroused by the study of

[39]


the lives of great men of the past, it is a good

plan to call his attention to this most im-

portant element of their success, hidingnone of the difficulties to be overcome, but

at the same time pointing out to him the

sureness of triumph if he perseveres.

One can no more become master of him-

self by proclaiming himself to be free than

France became powerful by the fiat of 1870.

She has had to put forth twenty years of

hard and persevering effort, in order to re-

cover her position. In the same way, our

personal uplifting must be a work of

patience. Why? One sees people spending

thirty years in the practise of a difficult pro-

fession, in order to be free to retire to the

country. Should one grudge the time that

must be devoted to such a lofty and noble

work as the mastery of one's self?

On our self-mastery depends our true

worth, namely, what we ourselves shall be-

come and the role which we shall play in life.

By means of it we shall be able to inspire

both the esteem and respect of every one. It

will throw open to us every source of happi-ness (for all our deepest happiness springs

[40]


from well-regulated activity), which is an

opportunity that hardly any one who has

attained maturity will fail to appreciate.

Affected contempt for it evidently hides

secret misery, a fact which we have all ex-

perienced. What student has not sadlyrealized the disproportion between his desire

to do good work, and the feebleness of his

will ?' 'You are free !

' ' the professors say, but

we listen to their statement in false despair.

No one has taught us that the will may be

slowly conquered; no one has thought of

studying how to conquer it. No one has

trained us for this struggle; no one has

helped us, and hence, as a perfectly natural

reaction, we fervently accept the doctrines of

Taine and the fatalists, which at least con-

sole us and help us to be resigned in the use-

less struggle. And because we shut our eyes

to the untruth of these doctrines which con-

nive at our laziness, we let ourselves drift

tranquilly on to the rocks.

The real cause of these fatalistic theories

concerning the will is the naive and dismal

theory of the philosophy of free will ! Moral

liberty, like political liberty, and everything

[411


else that is of any value in this world, can

only be acquired by great effort and inces-

sant struggle. It is the reward of the strong,

the skilled and persevering man. No one

is free who has not earned the right to be

free. Liberty is neither a right nor a con-

dition, it is a reward. It is the highest re-

ward, and the one most productive of hap-

piness. To the daily occurrences of life it is

what sunlight is to a landscape. He who has

not achieved it misses all the deep and last-

ing joys of life.

Alas! No question has been made more

unintelligible than this vital question of

liberty. Bain calls it the "rusty lock" of

metaphysics. It is evident that by liberty

we understand self-mastery; the sense of

assurance in our mind that noble sentiments

and moral ideas have ascendency over our

animal tendencies. By this, we do not meanthat we can become infallible in our self-

control, for the centuries are still too few

that separate us from our savage cave-dwell-

ing ancestors to allow us to rid ourselves

absolutely of the heritage of irascibility,

egotism, sensuality and laziness which they

[42]


have bequeathed to us. The great saints

who triumphed in the ceaseless struggle be-

tween their human and their animal natures

did not know the joy of serene and uncon-

tested victory.

But let us call attention again to the fact

that the work which we are outlining is not

as difficult as the work of self-sanctification.

For it is one thing to struggle against lazi-

ness and passion, and another to attempt ab-

solutely to root out the egotism of one's

nature.

But even when reduced to these terms, the

combat is long and difficult. Neither the

ignorant nor the presumptuous can conquer.There are certain methods to follow which

must first be learned, and one must make upone 's mind to labor long. To enter the arena

without knowing the laws of psychology,or without following the advice of those whoknow them, is like expecting to win a gameof chess over an experienced adversarywithout knowing the moves of the pieces.

But the partizans of such chimerical free

will will say that if you can not create^

or if you can not by the act of will-

[43]


ing give to any motive or impulse a force

which it did not naturally possess, then

you are not free. Nevertheless, we are

indeed free and we do not desire to be other-

wise free. Instead of pretending to giveforce to a motive by a simple volition or bya mysterious whimsical act contrary to all

scientific laws, we propose to give it force

by the intelligent application of the laws

of association of ideas. We can only con-

trol human nature when we obey it. The

only guarantee of our liberty is found in the

laws of psychology, which, at the same time,

are the only means by which we can attain

freedom. The only liberty there is for us

lies in the bosom of determinism.

Here we are at the crucial point of the

debate. We are told that, if we do not ad-

mit that the will without being accompa-nied by desire, but simply by its own free

initiative, can quicken a feeble impulse to the

point of dominating over powerful passions

then we presuppose the desire. If a student

feels no desire to work, he will never work.

Here we are confronted by a predestination

more cruel than that of Calvinism. For the

[44]


Calvinist predestined to hell does not knowit and the hope of heaven never leaves him.

But our student, by searching the depthsof his conscience, is able to perceive that he

has no desire, and that he is lacking in

grace, and he therefore concludes that all

effort is useless, and that he may as well

close the door upon hope.

Here is the question in a nutshell. Either

I have, or else I have not, the desire for

better things. If I do not have it, all myeffort is in vain. But as I am not responsiblefor my desire, and as grace, like the wind,bloweth where it listeth, I find myself driven

to fatalism rather than to predestination.

Very well;but in granting this we grant less

than would appear. Note that the desire

for improvement, however feeble it may be,

is sufficient, because by employing the propermeans to cultivate it, it can be developed,

strengthened, and transformed into a strongand lasting resolution. But some desire

there must be, even tho it be the faintest

you can imagine. If it does not exist youcan do nothing.

We admit this fully; and we believe those

[45]


who hold that liberty can be achieved by a

single act will allow that one can not base

much hope upon a decision to improve one's

self which does not rest on some desire for

improvement. To perform a difficult piece

of work unwillingly, or not to like what one

is trying to attain, is to deprive one's self of

all chances of success. In order to succeed,

one must love his work. But again, a

student either possesses or lacks this love

or desire. If he lacks it, then he must be

hopelessly condemned. We grant the di-

lemma. Yes, desire is necessary; where

there is no desire to become free, there will

be no liberty ! But the doleful effects of such

predestination apply only to that limited

number of people whom even the most rabid

partizans of free will themselves would con-

sider as having an unfortunate predestination.

In fact, such a group corresponds to

those insane persons who suffer from moral

insanity. "We hold, tho without being able

to prove it, because we have never encoun-

tered any negative cases, that, if we were

to ask any man whosoever not mentally

afflicted, if he would prefer the glorious

[46]


career of a Pasteur to that of a debased

drunkard, he would answer "Yes." Here

evidently is a postulate; it is our postulate,

and one which no one can contest. But whowill contest it?

Are there any men absolutely insensible

to the splendor of genius, to beauty, and to

moral grandeur? If such a brute exists, or

has existed, I confess that I have no interest

in him. But if my postulate is true, and true

it is for the totality of human mankind, that

is enough for me. For, if a person prefersthe grandeur of a Socrates, a Eegulus or a

Vincent de Paul to the ignoble depravityof the most repulsive specimens of the

human species, such a preference, no matter

how feeble it may be, is quite sufficient. Forto prefer implies love and desire. This de-

sire, no matter how fleeting it may be, can be

held and protected. It will grow strong if

it is cultivated, and will, through the skilfully

managed interplay of the laws of psychol-

ogy, be transformed into a virile resolu-

tion. It is thus that from an acorn, whichis a meal for a mouse, there arises a power-ful oak which defies the hurricane.

[47]


We are therefore not at all troubled by

being driven to such predestination, since,

with the exception of a group of incurable

insane, and some few dozen hopeless brutes,

we are all predestined to good behavior.

Morality therefore does not need to link its

fate to such a hazardous, and, let us repeat,

such a discouraging theory, as that of free

will. Morality needs only liberty, which is

quite a different thing, and this liberty is pos-

sible only in and by reason of determinism.

All that is necessary to establish the pos-

sibility of liberty is that our imaginationshall be capable of conceiving a plan of life

to be realized. Our knowledge and practise

of the laws of psychology will enable us,

by means of various combinations and alli-

ances, to carry out the main lines of our

chosen plan, and to take advantage of time,

which is the most powerful factor in accom-

plishing our freedom, and use it toward

that end.

Possibly our conception of liberty maynot be as seductive to the lazy man as the

theory of free will, but it has the advantageover the latter of being adequate for our

[48]


psychological and moral nature, as it really

is. It does not expose us to ridicule by letting

us haughtily affirm that we possess abso-

lute liberty while our statement is constantlycontradicted by our only too evident sub-

serviency to the enemies within. If such

a contradiction were merely amusing to the

psychological observer, it would not be so

bad; but it does not stop there, it goes on

producing discouragement in those whohave the greatest desire to improve.

Furthermore, this theory of free will has

prevented many a discerning mind to our

irreparable loss from studying the con-

ditions of the will.1

Now that our path has been cleared of

these popular theories concerning the nature

of the will, we can get right at the heart of

our subject, and take up the study of the

psychology of the will.

1 To be convinced of this it is only necessary to remem-

ber into what utter oblivion that very profound psycholog-

ical work concerning the will, produced by the school of

Cousin, has fallen. We refer to the Tableau de I'activite

volontaire pour servire d la science I 'education, by Debs.

Amiens, 1844.

We believe that Debs died at about the age of 44. There

[49]


are many pages in his book showing profound penetration,

especially when the date of the work is considered. I call

attention to an exposition beginning on page 30, and the

following pages, of the theory reproduced by Professor

William James, namely, that the will only unites terms in

their mental order. What would not so fine a mind as

Jouffroy's have done along this line of study, had he not

been misled by the whimsical discussion of free will then

in fashion. This theory has hindered the study of the will

for half a century.

[50]

BOOK II

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE WILL

A STUDY OF THE ROLE THAT IDEAS PLAYIN THE WILL

IF the elements of our psychologic life were

simple, nothing would be easier than to studythe dangers, as well as the resources, which

they offer to the work of self-mastery; but

these elements are so interdependent, and

so combined with one another, that it is verydifficult to analyze them in detail.

Nevertheless, it is easy to see that the

elements of our inner life fall into three

groups: our ideas, our emotional states, and

our actions.

The word idea includes many different

elements. The most profound distinction

which the psychologist, who is interested in

the relation of intelligence to the will, can

make between our different ideas is to sepa-

rate them into centripetal ideas and centrif-

ugal ideas. A great many ideas come from

the outside; they are what Montaigne called" chaff of the sieve/' mere transitory visi-

[53]


tants which have not gone through any

process of assimilation, and for which our

memories seem only a repository.

Ideas wholly at variance with each other

lodge side by side in our minds. All of us

have in our heads a host of thoughts de-

rived from reading and conversation, andeven from our dreams. These, strangers to

each other, have taken advantage of our

mental laziness to introduce themselves to

us, the majority under the authority of somewriter or professor. It is in this assembly,where there is good as well as worthless

material, that our laziness and sensuousness

seek their justification. We are the masters

of ideas of this kind. We can bring them

into line and develop them after our ownfashion. And if we have complete masteryover them they have hardly any over us.

The majority are scarcely more than words,and the struggle of words against our lazi-

ness and sensuality is like the clashing of

an earthen pot against a pot of iron. M.Fouillee has fostered a false point of view by

speaking of idea-forces. He has never noticed

that the executive force of an idea almost

[54]

THE ROLE THAT IDEAS PLAY

always comes from its union with those real

sources of power which we call the "affect-

ive," or emotional, states. Every turn of

experience convinces us of the feebleness of

ideas. There is a vast difference between

purely formal approbation and the active,

efficient faith that rouses one to deeds. Themoment that the intelligence has to struggle

alone, without any outside help, against the

brutal array of sensual forces, it is reduced

to helplessness. As long as one is in good

health, such isolation of the intelligence is

impossible: but sickness proves to us very

clearly that all force which instigates im-

portant actions emanates from sensibility.

We do not mean to say that intelligence has

no force in itself, but rather that it seems

to us quite powerless to eradicate, or repress,

our forceful and persistent animal tend-

encies.

M. Eibot,1 has shown, by means of stri-

king examples, that when sensibility is pro-

foundly diminished, when there is no joy

following sensation, then the idea remains

inert and cold; an intelligent man may be-

i ' ' Maladies de la volonte,' '

p. 38, seq.

[55]


come incapable of even lifting his hand to

sign his name. Which one of us, on wakingafter a restless night with little sleep, has not

found himself in just such a condition.

Plunged in a state of profound lethargy, our

intelligence is as keen as ever, and we see

exactly, what we ought to do, but alas ! werealize that the idea has little strength in

itself. But let us, at such a moment, hear

the servant talking outside with a visitor

whom he is about to announce, and whom wehave wholly forgotten, and the confusion of

being found at fault, which is a sentiment,

will make us jump out of bed in the greatest

haste. In the case which M. Eibot quotes,

one gets a vivid illustration of the contrast

between the effect of the ideas and that of

the feelings. One of the patients of whomhe speaks, who was incapable of making the

slightest voluntary movement, was the first

to jump out of the carriage when it ran over

a woman in the road.

Unfortunately, pathological states are

looked upon as something apart, while theyare in fact only an exaggeration of the

reality. Just as a miser is always ready to

[56]


laugh at the follies of Harpagan, without

ever seeing anything in himself to laugh at,

so we refuse to see ourselves in the sharplydefined pictures presented to us by mental

diseases.

But all our experience convinces us moreand more of the powerlessness of the idea.

We need hardly refer to the case of alco-

holics who know full well the consequencesthat will follow their drunkenness, but whodo not feel them until the first attack of

delirium comes, and then it is too late. Whatis this want of foresight, if not the vision

of future threats without the feeling of these

threats? The calamity comes. Ah, if I had

only known, they say. They did know, but

not with that feeling that moving knowledge,

which, as far as the will is concerned, is the

only thing that counts.

Underneath this superficial layer of ideas

which do not penetrate to any depth, are

found ideas which can be helped by passing

feelings. For example, one may have spentseveral days in a state of semi-laziness, in

reading perhaps, but not be able to get up

energy enough to go on with a book which

[57]


is lying there waiting to be written, and this

in spite of very excellent reasons that wehave for doing so. Suddenly, the mail bringsus news of the success of some friend, and

we are piqued into emulation, and what the

most worthy and sensible line of reasoningcould not effect, is brought about instantly

by a wave of mediocre emotion.

I shall always remember an event that

showed me, with unmistakable clearness, the

difference between an idea and an emotion. It

was in the gray of early dawn when I was

crossing a snowbank which sloped so rapidlythat its lower part disappeared in the dark-

ness. I began to slip, but did not lose my head

for a moment, tho I was perfectly conscious of

the fact then that I was in a critical situation,

and in extreme danger. I succeeded, even

while I was thinking that I was going to be

killed, in slowing up a little, and finally in

checking my slide altogether about a hundred

yards further down. With perfect calmness

I walked slowly across the snowbank by the

help of my alpenstock, but the moment I

found sure footing on the rocks and was

definitely saved, I was seized (possibly by

[58]

THE HOLE THAT IDEAS PLAY

reason of the exhaustion caused by my ex-

cessive efforts), with a violent fit of

trembling. My heart beat rapidly and I wasbathed in a cold perspiration, and then onlydid I experience a sense of fear and extreme

terror. In an instant the idea of danger had

become a feeling of danger.

Lying much deeper than these ideas of ex-

ternal origin, which are adopted provisorily

by transitory emotional states, are other ideas

which, altho they also come from without,

are in harmony with fundamental feelings,

and which are so closely bound up with them

that one can not say whether the idea has

absorbed the emotion, or the emotion the

idea. At this point, they become confused

with ideas of internal origin coming from

the depths of our being which are, as it

were, a translation into set terms of our verycharacter and our profoundest tendencies.

Our sentient personality gives them a warm

coloring: they are, to a certain extent

emotions. Like lava, which tho cooled on

the surface, will remain molten for years at

a certain depth, these ideas retain, even

after they have been metamorphosed into

[59]


intelligence, the heart of their original emo-

tion. They not only inspire, but sustain,

prolonged activity in any given direction.

Nevertheless, it must be distinctly re-

membered that these ideas are not ideas at

all; they are distinct, definite and quick re-

sponding substitutes of the feelings; that is

to say, of powerful psychological conditions

which move slowly, and are cumbersome and

difficult to handle. They are very different

from the superficial ideas which make up" the external man," and which are often

merely words, or signs barren of any signifi-

cance. Their energy comes to them, as it

were, by their roots. It is a borrowed energywhich they draw up from the living source

of the sentiments and passions in short, a

word from the emotional states. When an

idea such as that of which we have spokenis born into a soul that receives it warmly, bysome duplex and mysterious phenomenon of

endosmosis which we shall study, it draws to

itself all the sentiments which it needs to im-

pregnate it, and in some way nourish itself

and strengthens itself upon them, and more-

over the power of the idea passes into the

[60]


sentiments and gives them, not only strength,

but direction. The idea is to the feelings

what magnetization is to the innumerable cur-

rents in a bar of soft iron; it leads them all

in the same direction, and destroys conflict-

ing currents, so that, what was only an inco-

herent mass, becomes an organized current

with a hundredfold strength. Thus it some-

times happens in politics, that a happy ex-

pression uttered by some popular leader will

be enough to swing the various hitherto dis-

organized anarchical tendencies of democracy

sharply around into a definite and organizedform.

But reduced to themselves ideas have no

power against the brute strength of natural

inclinations or tendencies. Who has not at

some time had the experience of being seized

at night with an absurd unreasoning terror,

and of lying in bed, with his heart beating

violently, his temples bursting with the rush

of blood to his head, and of being incapableof driving away this ridiculous emotion, in

spite of the fact that his reason and intelli-

gence were both perfectly clear and active.

If any have not had such an experience I

[61]


advise them to sit up after midnight whenthe wind is howling out in the country in

the depth of winter, and read the "Walled-

up Door," one of Hoffmann's fantastic tales.

They will then see for themselves how power-less their intelligence and reason will be to

cope with the emotion of fear.

But, without referring to examples of such

strong and almost instinctive emotion, one

can see the difference in the effects produced

by ideas and by emotional states, by studying

acquired feelings. Compare the purely in-

tellectual parrot-like belief of the citizens of

any small French town with the faith of a

Dominican monk. The latter, because he

feels a religious truth, is able to sacrifice

himself utterly, deprive himself of everythingthat the world holds dear, accept povertyand humiliation and lead a severe, hard life.

The citizen whose belief is merely intel-

lectual goes to mass, but feels no sense of

repugnance at his egregious selfishness. Heis rich, but he works a poor servant pitilessly

hard, and gives her scarcely enough to eat

while demanding the utmost of her service.

Compare the lightly uttered socialistic

[62]


opinions exprest by a demagog, who de-

nies himself no pleasure and spares no ex-

pense to gratify his vanity, with the

socialism felt by a Tolstoi, who, tho possest

of every gift, noble birth, fortune and genius,

yet lives the life of a Russian peasant.

In the same way, the idea of the inevit-

ableness of death is with most people merelyan abstract conception. This idea which, after

all, is so full of consolation and rest, and so

calculated to weaken our ambitions and check

our proud and selfish impulses, and heal the

source of all our troubles, has nevertheless

no influence upon our conduct. How could

it be otherwise, when, even by those who are

condemned to death, this idea is seldom felt

till the last moment. Dickens writes of the

sentence of Fagin :

"Not that, all this time, his mind was, for

an instant free from one oppressive over-

whelming sense of the grave that opened at

his feet; it was ever present to him, but in

a vague and general way, and he could not

fix his thoughts upon it. Thus, even while

he trembled, and turned burning hot at the

idea of speedy death, he fell to counting the

[63]


iron spikes before him, and wondering howthe head of one had been broken off, andwhether they would mend it or leave it as

it was. Then, he thought of all the horrors

of the gallows and the scaffold and stopt to

watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool it

and then went on to think again.' ' 1

It is unnecessary to go on multiplying ex-

amples. Each one searching in his own past

experience can collect a large number of

characteristic facts that will coincide with our

conclusions. Ideas by themselves do not

constitute a force. They would be a force,

provided they were the only thing in con-

sciousness; but, as they often find themselves

in conflict with the emotional states, they are

obliged to borrow from feelings the force

which they lack when they come to struggle

against them.

The powerlessness of ideas is all the more

deplorable because we have them com-

pletely under our control. The easily regu-

lated determinism of the association of con-

scious states gives us almost absolute free-

dom in the matter of the intellect.

i Charles Dickens, "Oliver Twist," ch. 52.

[64]


By the very laws of association them-

selves, we are able to break the chain of

associated states and to introduce new ele-

ments into them and then connect the chain

again. While I am casting around for an

example to illustrate this theoretical state-

ment, chance which faithfully looks after all

those who pursue an idea, has offered meone. A factory whistle blows. This sound,

against my will, has interrupted the train

of ideas which I was following and has

suddenly introduced to my conscious-

ness a picture of the sea with a back-

ground of strong mountain peaks, and then

comes the beautiful panorama which is seen

from the quays of Bastia. This is because

the whistle had exactly the same sound as

that of the steamboat which for three yearsI so often heard there. Ah well T you wantfreedom. Here it is. It is the law of the

strongest. The direct presentation of a

state is, as a rule, stronger than the repre-

sentation of it in memory and if the whistle

can break a train of thoughts which we wish

to follow, we can deliberately make use of

such an effect. We can, if we wish to free

[65]


ourselves from some association of ideas,

introduce a strong presentation of an idea

or thing that will violently break the chain.

There is one presentative state that is par-

ticularly easy and convenient, viz., move-

ment, and among movements those which con-

stitute language. One can pronounce words

out loud, or one can read them. One can even

scourge one's self, as the saints do in mo-

ments of temptation, and thus violently break

the train of dangerous associations. Anyidea which we want to use as a starting-point

for a new direction of thoughts, in order to

gain a victory over another line of thoughts,

we can drag in, as it were, by force.

We are, moreover, wonderfully aided in

our endeavors by the great law of memory.All recollection, in order to be deeply

graven, must be repeated frequently, and

for a long time. There is first the need of

keen and sympathetic attention, if I may so

describe it. The cerebral substrata of the

chain of ideas which we have expelled from

our consciousness and which we keep in

exile, fade and disappear, and with their

own atrophy bring about the effacement of

[66]


corresponding ideas. We are thus masters

of our thoughts; we can pull up the weeds

and can even destroy that portion of the

ground that bore them.

On the other hand, when we wish to keepthe associations that are presented and to

let them develop, we first take great painsto eliminate all the presentative conditions

which are foreign to our object and which

lie ready to obtrude themselves upon our

consciousness.

We find a quite calm place, and we even close

our eyes if the web of our thoughts is wovenof fragile stuff. Furthermore, we make use

of the right presentative states that will help

us; we speak out loud, or we write our

thoughts; for writing more than anythingelse is a wonderful aid to prolonged medi-

tation. It sustains thought and calls in the

movements of the hand and the eyes to aid

and abet the ideas. In myself I find a

natural propensity which has been strongly

cultivated by my profession. I can not read

without articulating, so that for me thoughtis strengthened by three lines of presenta-

tive sensations, I might even say by four, as

[67]


it is difficult to articulate without hearing the

word. x

In summing up, we see that it is because

we have full control of our muscles,

especially those of the organs of sense or

those which we bring into play in language,that we are able to free ourselves from the

bondage of the association of ideas. There

may be differences in each one of us accord-

ing to our nature. In practical psychology,it is not at all permissible to generalize con-

cerning any special case, for new types are

discovered every day, which hitherto were

not distinguished from the others.8 But for

myself, the only reminder that I have at my1 It is well known that the memory of a word is very com-

plex, and that it is composed of four elements: (1) a mo-

tive image (the pronouncing of the word), (2) a visual

image (the word in print or in manuscript), (3) an audi-

tory image (the sound of the word as it is spoken), (4) a

graphic motor image (the writing of the word). As thought

is impossible without language, it is evident in all thought

there must be woven one or more strands formed by these

images of which we have just spoken. When we write we

should weave together all four strands to sustain our

thought.

2 Cf. Eibot, "L Evolution des ide"es Generates." F. Alcan,

1891.

[68]


disposal and the one I always call in first,

when I wish to break in on a line of thoughtand change it to another, is to imagine some

movement. I have control over my thoughts

only because I am master of my muscles.

From the point of view of the self-edu-

cation of the will, the conclusion of this

chapter is somewhat discouraging. We can

master our ideas, but alas! the strength of

our ideas, in the struggle against laziness

and sensuality, is hardly appreciable. Let

us see whether we shall attain a happier re-

sult in studying the resources which the

emotional states offer us in the work of

mastering self.

[69j

nTHE ROLE OF THE EMOTIONAL STATES

IN THE WILL

THE possibilities of power that the emo-

tional states have over our wills can not be

exaggerated. They can do anything ; they can

even make us face suffering and death with-

out hesitation. To state their power, is simplyto state an empirical law of the universe.

But can this empirical law be transformed

into a scientific law; that is to say, can a

higher law be derived from it, and be con-

sidered as a conclusion deduced from an

evident truth!

If we analyze sentiment, separating fromone another the mingled elements of which

it is composed, we find that we can compareit to an adagio of Beethoven in which there

is a fundamental motif running through all

the variations, now almost disappearing and

now standing out clearly. Such a phrase re-

curring again and again in a thousand

forms is, as it were, the soil in its variety

[70]

THE EMOTIONAL STATES IN THE WILL

and unity, which brings life to the musical

creation. This motif sustaining the whole

adagio with its wonderful richness, illus-

trates the way in which an elementary theme

can underlie an emotion or sentiment. It is

this theme which gives to the sentiment its

unity. Upon it there may be developed varia-

tions of richest sensations, of pleasure, grief,

and memory. But through all of them runs

the theme which gives the particular tone

to these secondary elements. As human be-

ings, according to Descartes, do not exist

except by a continuous creation of God, so

even our pleasures, our griefs, our sen-

sations, and our memories have no reality,

except by a sort of continued creation,

through the living energy of the theme bywhich they are glorified. Without it, one

would have nothing but a collection of cold,

dry, purely abstract psychological con-

ditions without color and without force.

This inner depth of force in the emotions

explains why they have such robust power.In fact, what are these underlying tenden-

cies, if not our natural activity and ardent

wishes which through the powerful dis-

[71]


cipline of pain, have been obliged to restrict

their development in many directions, and to

submit themselves to the inevitable choice,

either of perishing or of following along

certain channels, which means along the line

of certain specially organized tendencies 1

Activity without the discipline of painwould be scattered in all directions and

weakened: experience has taught it to move

along the line of certain tendencies, and

these tendencies, one sees, are, after all, our

sensual primitive energy, which in molten

streams breaks through the superficial crust

of acquired ideas and of secondary senti-

ments of the outside world. It is our living

force which flows into the proper muscles,

and is transmuted into habitual acts. This

in itself explains the motor power of the

inclinations. They consist of a group of

movements, or rather of a number of ele-

mentary movements. For example, the

muscular material brought into play by

anger, or the emotion of love, is, in the main,

always the same in every instance. It is,

moreover, practically the same for the en-

tire human race. Whatever it is, it has ex-

[72]


isted in innumerable generations, which

have transmitted its existence to us. Onthis rather ancient fabric, each one em-

broiders his own personal pattern; but the

general effect is so coherent, that even babes

in their cradles know the meaning of it.

This connection between a certain tendencyand a certain group of muscles has been

transmitted by heredity. It is a bond of

great antiquity. One can readily see howthese strands, with which I might de-

liberately connect a certain idea with a cer-

tain muscular movement, would have verylittle strength compared with those other

bonds which had become automatic. The

only chance that such would have of not

being broken in this unequal strugglewould be, as one can foresee, by seekingalliance and making common cause with

hereditary tendencies : in this way, one could

risk a struggle, for the fragile web connect-

ing the idea with the movement would not

have to bear the brunt of the strain. Theforce that lies in sentiment or feeling is

shown by the richness of its results.

A strong feeling may disturb psychological

[73],


conditions which are apparently wholly inde-

pendent of it, as for instance the perceptionof real objects. It is true that all percep-

tion, even elementary perception, is an inter-

pretation of certain signs. I do not see an

orange ;I only judge by certain signs that it

must be an orange. But with habit, this

interpretation becomes instantaneous and

automatic and consequently is not easily dis-

turbed. It is quite possible for a strong emo-

tion to drive away the true interpretation

and to suggest a hallucinatory one which

takes the place of the other in our conscious-

ness. Without stopping to speak of fear in

the night, which puts the most absurd inter-

pretation upon perfectly natural noises, we

may remind ourselves how hatred can blind

us to the most evident facts. If any one is

tempted to call to account the curiously false

ideas that mothers have concerning the

beauty of their children, they should recall

Moliere's clever little sally in which he

laughs at the illusions created by love :

The sallow girl is like a pearl, the fairest he has met,

The swarthy one from whom men run, a ravishing brunette,

But our perception is not the only thing

tm


which is led astray by our feelings. Strong

feelings have no consideration for weak feel-

ings. For example, and we shall soon have

reason to emphasize this fact, vanity, which

is a very powerful sentiment in most people,

can drive all well-established sentiments

completely out of mind. Our sentiments of

what is proper and fashionable are very

largely suggested by our amour propre.These strangers strut into our consciousness

and cover up our true feelings, just as a

specter appearing against the wall seems to

hide the pattern of the tapestry from the

person who has the hallucination as effec-

tually as a person who was really presentwould do. As a result of such autosugges-

tion, the student sacrifices the true joys of

his youth and environments to imaginary

pleasures, which, when stript of the glamourof the sentiments suggested by his vanity, or

by the pace which his fellows set, he finds

worthless. It is for this reason that worldly

people, whose tastes and incapacity have

made them superficial, and who never godown deep enough in their own hearts to find

out what their real feelings are, so often turn

[75]


out in middle life to be stupid and vapid, tho

apparently busy with many interests. Theyget into the habit of imagining that they are

really feeling the conventional sentiments

which it is the proper thing in their world to

appear to feel, and this habit finally kills in

them the possibility of experiencing real

emotions. This subjection to "what peoplewould say" turns out very agreeable and

polished individuals without the slightest

originality, pretty mechanical puppets whoare worked by strings in other people's

hands. Even in the deepest experiences of

life, they only feel conventional emotions.

It is very evident that if we can juggle with

our perceptions and our sentiments which

are fairly stable and permanent, the emo-

tional states would have no difficulty in dis-

turbing those delicate psychological condi-

tions known as memories. And as all judg-ment and all belief depend on gaining moreor less complete information, followed by a

precise valuation of the elements of the in-

formation, it is evident that the feelings could

have tremendous consequences in this di-

rection.' ' The chief use to which we put our

[76]


love of truth, is to persuade ourselves that

what we love is true." * We nearly all of us

imagine that we take sides, that we choose

between several paths that are open to us.

Alas ! Our decision has nearly always taken

place in us, and is not taken by us. There is

no participation of our conscious will. Our

tendencies, sure of their final victory, con-

sent after a fashion to let our intelligence

look the matter over; they are quite willing

to grant her the empty satisfaction of be-

lieving herself queen, tho in reality she is

only a constitutional queen, who appears be-

fore the public and makes speeches, but whodoes not govern.In fact, the intelligence which so docilely

submits to the violence of the emotional

states, does not get much satisfaction from

the will. The will is not fond of carrying out

the cold orders it receives from the intelli-

gence. As it is the organ of all power and

feeling, it wants emotional orders tinged with

passion. Pathology has shown us the case of

a man who was absolutely incapable of ma-

king a decision, eagerly leaping out of a car-

1 Nieol,' ' De la connaissance de soi,

' ' Vol. I, Chap. 6.

[77]


riage before any one else to help a womanwho had been run over. 1 This is what a

special volition can do.

With greater reason, a strong and power-ful will should be sustained by sentiments

which are in themselves powerful, and if not

constantly, at least should be frequently ex-

cited. "Strong feeling,"

says Mill, "is the

instrument and element of strong self-con-

trol; but it requires to be cultivated in that

direction. When it is, it forms not the nerves

of impulse only, but those also of self-con-

quest. History and experience prove that

the most passionate characters are the most

fantastically rigid in their feelings of duty,

when their passion has been trained to act in

that direction. ' ' 2Let any one observe him-

self carefully and he will see that apart from

the acts which have become automatic by

habit, all volition is preceded by a wave of

emotion, an effective perception of the act

to be accomplished. We have just seen that

the idea of the work which we had on hand

lEibot, "Maladie de la volonte," loc. cit., p. 48 and

52 note. F. Alcan.

2 Mill, "The Subjection of Women"; Kibot, "Maladies

de la volonte," 117, 118, 169.

[78]


was not enough to make us spring out of

bed, while the feeling of shame at being

caught in bed, after announcing that we madea practise of getting up at dawn, was suf-

ficiently moving to make us hurry into our

clothing. Also a feeling that some one has

done us an injustice will drive us to protest

that we were not to blame, etc.

Moreover, the rather irrational kind of edu-

cation that is given to the children of the

present day is founded in part on a vague

perception of the truth. The system of re-

wards and punishments rests on the confused

belief that the emotions alone are able to stir

the will into action. The children in whomsensibility is at a very low level are exceed-

ingly difficult to educate in the matter of the

will, and therefore in all directions. "It must

be acknowledged that of all the trials of edu-

cation none is to be compared with that of

trying to bring up children who lack sensi-

bility, their thoughts are mere distractions.

They hear everything and they feel noth-

ing/'1

If we look upon social bodies and their

iFenelon, "Education des filles," Chap. 4.

[79]


wills as the magnification of what goes on

among individuals, we shall see very clearly

that ideas lead people only indirectly, and

with the help of sentiments. "The advent of

an idea," says Micheles, "is not so muchthe first appearance of it as a formula, as

it is the moment when it really begins to de-

velop, when, impregnated by the force of

the heart and nurtured in the powerfulwarmth of love, it bears fruit for the

world." 1

Spencer maintains with goodreason that the world is led by the emo-

tions. Stuart Mill objects to this.2

"Be-

cause," he says, "it was not human emo-

tions and passions which discovered the

movement of the earth." Assuredly not.

But this discovery has depended for its re-

sults on very powerful sentiments, without

which it would have had no influence on

human conduct. Such an idea springs upin the mind of a Pascal or a Spinoza. In

the case of the latter, especially his feeling

of the utter insignificance of our globe in the

universe, with the resulting feeling of our1 "Les Femmes de la Revolution," 1854, p. 321.

2 "Aug. Comte et le Positi^isme,' '

p. 100 seq. Trans.

Clemenceau F. Alcan.

[80]N


own non-entity, so profoundly affected him,

that no one can read his books intimately

without experiencing to some degree, a feel-

ing of sublime calm in the presence of the

eternal verities. But it could hardly be

said that this discovery had produced prac-

tical effects only upon meditative philoso-

phers, because they alone have been aroused

to deep emotions. The will of a nation, or of a

political party, is one of its resulting affect-

ive stages (its daily interests, fears, sympa-

thies, etc.). It must be admitted that abstract

ideas are not very efficacious in leading a

people. It is not necessary to do more than

to call our readers' attention to this point.

They will find numerous illustrations in his-

tory of the feeble effect of abstract ideas as

contrasted with the power of emotions.

They will distinguish between pure ideas

and emotions, and see how far suffering,

anger, fear, and hope have helped to feed the

flame of patriotism which burns in all of us.

As for individual examples, the most casual

glance at the "comedy of life" will furnish

them by the dozens. In addition to the illus-

trations quoted at the beginning of this

[81]


chapter, they will note how the very piouswho would not dream of neglecting a church

service, will tear their "friends' '

repu-

tations to pieces. They will see political

men parading their philanthropy, when theywould recoil with disgust from the idea

of visiting stuffy garrets and coming in con-

tact with the unclean and vulgar poor. Theywill be perfectly paralyzed at certain dis-

turbances in their own consciences provoked

by sensuality, and they will stand aghast at

the ignoble ideas, which a secretion accumu-

lated in the body is capable of exciting in a

mind which as a rule is under perfect con-

trol. As a result of this feeling of helpless-

ness they are driven to the idea of sacrificing

absolutely, not only their own existence, but

even that self-esteem which can produce a

profound religious sentiment.

They impress upon their minds the truth

of the saying in the "Imitation of Christ,"

qui amat non laborat. For when one loves,

all work is easy and delightful. They will see

how lightly the maternal passion will over-

throw ideas of honor and patriotism. "Let

him live ! I care not if he be disgraced ! Only

[82]


let him live!" And they will also see an in-

verse phenomenon in the ardent patriotism

of a Cornelia, and realize that the most

powerful emotions can be successfully

opposed by secondary and artificially created

emotions. This example proves the possi-

bility of uprooting the deepest instinctive

sentiments. After glancing at such cases,

however rapidly, no one could refuse to ad-

mit the complete power of the affective, or

emotional, states over the will.

Unfortunately, if the emotional side of our

nature is decidedly the stronger in our psy-

chological life, our power over it is apt to be

weak. And what is more serious, an ex-

amination of facts convinces us not only that

this weakness is real, but that it could not be

otherwise. This helplessness is, in fact, a

result of nature as well as a sentiment.

We have shown elsewhere that all com-

munications with the outer world must neces-

sarily be through the action of our muscles :

if no muscles, then no external expression.

Therefor all impulse coming from without,

by whatsoever channel, has the power of

provoking a response from the being who

[83]


receives it. A muscular response of course

is understood. External impressions are

extremely different; hence the wide range of

muscular adjustments. But under what-

ever form a muscular action takes place, it

makes necessary an expenditure of energy.

Nature has ingeniously provided for this

expenditure. When an impression strikes

the senses, the heart suddenly begins to beat

more rapidly, the respiration is accelerated,

and all the functions of nutrition are, as it

were, touched up with a whip. This instan-

taneous physiological flutter is what really

constituted an emotion. The emotion is only

strong in proportion as this flutter or quick-

ening is strong, and if it is lacking, the

emotion is also lacking. Now this flutter is

automatic, and, what is more, it is almost

wholly beyond the control of our will, which

is very annoying to us, as masters of our-

selves.1

We can neither stop, nor even directly

modify, our heart beats. We can not calm a

spasm of terror by preventing the semi-

1 ' ' Eevue philosophique,' '

May, 1890. ' '

Sensation, plaisir

et douleur," F. Alcan.

[84]


paralysis of the intestines. No one can be

more deeply imprest than we ourselves with

the idea that the men who are masters of

themselves are extremely rare, and that

liberty is the recompense of prolongedefforts which few people have the courageto attempt. The result is, that nearly all

men are slaves to the law of c[gtermini am.

and are guided by their vanity and their

irritable impulses. And in consequence, as

Nicole has said, they are in the great ma-

jority of instances " marionettes " which one

can not but pity.

However basely they may treat one, the

only truly philosophical attitude one can

adopt toward them is that of calm, superior

serenity. Let Alceste, who believes in free

will, storm and rage without accomplishing

anything by it, for that is the law of nature,but give us the smiling tranquil attitude of

Philinte.

Altho within my anger burns the same

As yours in you, yet no one sees the flame.

But none the less I look with like disgust,

On selfish men who show themselves unjust,

As on malicious apes or beasts of prey,

Or greedy vultures hovering o 'er the fray.

[85]


This theoretically is what the attitude of

the thinker should be. If he must avenge

himself, let him do so calmly. But, properly

speaking, the truly wise man does not seek

vengeance. He only tries to protect his future

by correcting those who disturb his mental

poise, in such a way that henceforth theywill understand that it is better to leave

him in peace. Instead of this lofty calm,

what do we behold? Our self-esteem is

wounded or some malicious gossip is broughtto us, and immediately, in spite of ourselves,

we have a physiological reaction. Our heart

begins to beat irregularly and convulsively.

It behaves as if its action were ruined. Its

contractions are imperfect, spasmodic and

painful. The blood is sent rushing to the

brain in violent jerks, congesting that deli-

cate organ and starting up a torrent of

violent thoughts, visions of vengeance, and

absurd, exaggerated impractical ideas. Our

philosophy looks on helplessly at this whollyanimal outbreak of passion, which it disap-

proves of and deplores. Why this helpless-

ness? Simply because our emotions have

invariably an antecedent visceral disturb-

[86]


ance over which our wills have no control.

And not being able to moderate this organic

disturbance, we can not prevent its reaction

from invading our consciousness and beingtranslated into psychological terms.

Is it necessary to multiply examples f Does

not what we call our sensibility, or emotion,furnish us with crucial proof of the organiccause of physical disturbances? Does not

our transitory rage, as well as our auto-

matism of ideas, cease as soon as the phys-

iological cause ceases? It is necessary to

refer again to the example of fear we have

just analyzed? Is it not perfectly clear

that we must be without control over our

emotions because their underlying causes,

being physiological in nature, are beyondour control?

Let me analyze a personal experience,

which will plainly show how unequal the con-

flict is, when our thoughts try to struggle

with our viscera. One day word was broughtto me that my child, who had started out in

the morning to make a visit, had not reached

the house of the friend who expected him.

My heart immediately started to beat more

[87]


quickly. But I began to reason with myself,

and at once thought of a plausible excuse for

his non-appearance. All the same, my ex-

treme anxiety over the circumstance and the

idea suggested by, I do not know whom, that

the child might have gone to play by the

edge of a very deep and rapid stream near

the house, succeeded in upsetting me. Al-

tho I immediately realized that the horri-

ble possibility was extremely improbable,

nevertheless the physiological agitation of

which we have spoken became extreme. Myheart beat as tho it would burst. I had a

painful bristling sensation on my scalp as

tho my hair were standing up on end. Myhands trembled and the wildest ideas ran

through my brain, in spite of all my efforts

to chase away my fears, which my judgmenttold me were unreasonable. The child wasfound after a half-hour search, but my heart

still continued to beat violently. The curious

thing was that this agitation, which I had

so earnestly tried to ignore, feeling, as

it were, frustrated of its end, seemed de-

termined to find expression, and drove me

(for the material workings of anger and

[88]


anxiety are obviously the same) to make a

scene with the poor servant, who could not

help what had happened. All at once I stopt

short, struck by the expression of grief on

the poor girl's face, and I decided to let the

tempest die down of itself, which, however,took some time.

Each one of us can make similar observa-

tions upon himself, and each one will arrive

at the same doleful conclusion, that we can

have no direct power over our emotions.

We seem to be driven into a corner. Thetask of mastering self is evidently an im-

possible one. The title of this book is a

snare, and the education of self is a delusion.

On the one hand, I can control only mythoughts. The intelligent use of determin-

ism makes me free and allows me to makeuse of the laws of association of ideas. But

the idea is a helpless thing. It has only a

mock power over the brute forces againstwhich we must struggle.

On the other hand, if the emotions are so

strong in us; if they domineer in their ownfashion over our perceptions, memories,

judgments, and reasonings, and if the fiercer

tm


emotions even annihilate the tenderer ones;

if, in a word, they exercise almost unlimited

despotism, they will remain tyrants to the

end, and will never take orders from our

reason or bow to our will. The onfy re-

sources with which we are bountifully sup-

plied are resources which we can not use.

The constitution which rules our psycholog-ical life bestows the greater power upon the

undisciplined and ungovernable serf. Ourintellectual powers are powers only in name.

They are allowed a voice in consultation, but

not in the deliberative body.There seems nothing else to do except to

throw down our lance and shield in despairand leave the field of combat; to accept our

defeat meekly and to take refuge in fatal-

ism, which at least will furnish us with con-

solation for our weaknesses, laziness and

cowardice.

Fortunately, the position is not quite so

desperate as one might be tempted to be-

lieve. The strength which the intellect does

not possess may be given to it by a very

potent factor which we have not yet men-

tioned. What the great liberating power


can not actually accomplish of itself, time in

the long run will accord. The freedom which

can not be achieved immediately can be

brought about by stratagem and by indirect

measures.

But before setting forth the method bywhich we may free ourselves, it would be as

well not to overlook any of our resources,

and to find out whether, possessing little or

no control over the essential in our emotional

states, we could not do something to influence

the secondary elements of the emotions.

We have no direct psychological means of

controlling any of the essentially physio-

logical material which includes the majorityof the organs, and chiefly the heart, which

are not under the control of the will. Our

only methods of affecting them is from the

outside, and are therapeutic measures. Aviolent fit of temper could be calmed bytaking a little digitalis, which has the powerof regulating the heart-beats.

One can stop the most violent sexual ex-

citement by the use of anod^es. One can

overcome laziness, either physical or mental

torpor, by taking coffee. But this beverage

[91]


quickens the heart-beats and gives them a

spasmodic action, and predisposes manypeople to nervous irritability. In a great

many nervous people coffee causes dyspnosaand a sensation of constriction and tremblingof the limbs. It also has a tendency to makethem feel deprest and anxious without

sufficient cause, and even to be subject to

unreasonable terrors.

But such means of treatment are soon

summed up, and all taken together are

hardly worth considering in the effect theywould have in giving us direct control over

the emotions.

This conclusion, however, does not apply in

at all the same way to anything pertaining to

the emotions that find their expression in

muscular action. The external expression of

the emotion is under our control, for we have

the power to perform or to refuse to performcertain movements. There is a constant asso-

ciation between emotion and its external ex-

pression. For it is a fundamental law in

psychology that when any two elements have

been frequently associated together, one has

a tendency to awaken the other.

[92]


It is in accordance with this law that the

most profound of the practical psychologists

who have taken up the question of the educa-

tion of the sentiments, Ignatius Loyola, as

well as Pascal, recommended external acts of

faith as very helpful in bringing the mindinto a corresponding emotional state. Oneknows that in the condition of hypnotic sleep

an attitude which expresses an emotion is

able to suggest the latter. Whatever pas-

sion one may wish to have exprest by the

patient's attitude, springs suddenly into ex-

istence the moment the muscles that are nec-

essary to manifest this passion are broughtinto play, and the whole organization re-

sponds to it.1

Dugald-Stewart relates that Burke assured

him that he had often experienced the fact

that his anger grew hotter in proportion as

he allowed himself to indulge in the external

signs of passion. Is it not true that dogs and

children, and even grown-up people, who be-

gin to fight with each other in play, generallyend up by getting angry with each other in

earnest? Are not tears as well as laughteriCf Braid,

' '

Neurypnology."

[93]


contagious? Is it not a common saying that

the more foolish one is, the more one laughs ?

Is not a doleful, morose person like a wet-

blanket, not to say a veritable calamity for

any family! Were not the laws of the Chi-

nese ceremonial expressive of the homagedue to high authority, deliberately estab-

lished by Confucius, who, like Loyola per-

ceived that gestures tended to express cor-

responding sentiments? Are not Catholic

pomps, with their profoundly psychologic

ceremonials, singularly well adapted to makea deep impression on even the incredulous

mind? I defy any of the faithful to keepback a feeling of reverence in his soul, at the

moment when the chants are followed by the

profound silence in which the faithful with

one accord bow themselves before the Eter-

nal. In accordance with the same ideas, does

not the visit of a friend, who is bubbling over

with gaiety, pull us out of the depths and set

us cheerfully upon our feet? It is unneces-

sary to go on adding examples ;one can find

them so easily everywhere one looks.

Unfortunately, what is aroused are feel-

ings which already existed. They may be

[94]


awakened, and revivified by such association,

but they are not created. The sentiments

thus called forth will remain very weak. The

process acts from without, and what is within

can hardly be considered as more than a val-

uable aid. It serves rather to maintain the

feeling in the full light of consciousness. It

does what we have seen movements, and espe-

cially writing, do for thought. It is of greatvalue in preventing distractions which cause

the attention to wander. It helps to hold

our states of consciousness in their properorder and to prevent them from breakingtheir chain of sequence, which they are

always ready to do by letting some newstates be introduced. But to think one could

thus introduce into the mind any feeling

whose germ was not already there, or even

were it already there but only in germ, is to

be ignorant that the essential element of all

sentiment evades our grasp.

Nevertheless, when an emotion wells upwithin us, we can refuse to allow ourselves

to express it externally. For the expressionof anger, it is positively necessary to have

the fist clenched, the jaws set, the muscles of

[95]


the face contracted, and to pant as one draws

one's breath. I can command my muscles

to relax and my lips to smile; I can check

my spasmodic breathing and draw my breath

slowly. But if I have not tried to extinguish

the first faint sparks of passion, or to stampout the kindling fire, but have fanned the

emotion to a flame, and let it grow, my efforts

will in all probability be useless, especially

if the will does not call from within the help

of other emotions, such as the feeling of per-

sonal dignity, the fear of an outbreak, etc.

One could make the same statement for sen-

sual feeling. If the spirit is the accompliceof desire, if the interior resistance is weak,the resistance of the muscles which are the

agents of desire will not last long. And as

a general rule, it is of no use trying to block-

ade the enemy by constructing outworks

against him, provided the invading troopsfeel that their chiefs are weak and are readyto surrender. This refusal of the muscles to

obey passion ought to be energetically upheld

by all the internal powers which are con-

nected with it. Our direct influence to excite

an emotion in the mind or to check it, or to

[96]


render it helpless, and above all to destroy a

feeling, is therefore weak. The only thingthat these external means can furnish us is

perhaps a supplement; a very precious sup-

plement undoubtedly, but which can only

augment an internal action which is already

strong.

If, however, we were confined to the pres-

ent, if we lived from day to day without

forethought, it would be useless to strive. Wewould helplessly watch the conflict of ideas,

emotions and passions going on within us.

The struggle would be interesting, but our

intelligence would be a spectator discouragedin advance. It could find some amusement,as one does in betting on the races, by pre-

dicting what the issue of the struggle would

be;and would in the end probably acquire a

sort of infallibility in this prognosis. In

fact, in the majority of people the intelli-

gence plays no other role than that, because

nearly all are the dupes of their feelings. Be-

cause they foresee what is going to happen,and because it happens exactly as their de-

sires wish it to happen, they believe them-

selves free. The intelligence, ashamed of its

[97]


helplessness, loves to delude itself with the

idea that its power is sovereign. But in real-

ity the natural tendencies deal with the mat-

ter without it. It has no more influence on

the issue of the conflict, than the meteorolo-

gist, who knows that the rain will fall to-

morrow, has upon the degree of saturation of

the atmosphere.But the outcome, an outcome well mer-

ited by those who have made no effort

to conquer their liberty, is by no meansunavoidable. One can attain the powerof being a law unto one's self. The liberty

which the present refuses to us, time will

enable us to achieve. It is time that strikes

off our chains. Time is the sovereign powerwhich frees our intelligence, and makes it

possible for it to throw off the bondage of

passions and animal instincts. For emo-

tional states of every kind are but blind and

brutal forces, and it is the fate of people whocan not see ahead of them, even tho they be

Hercules, to be led by those who see clearly.

The intelligence must, to become qualified,

ally itself with endurance;that is to say, by

patient, calm, but persistent, measures; it

[98]


can slowly but surely possess itself of powerand even authority, an authority that will be

modified only by the laziness of the sovereign,or the temporary revolts of the subject.

We now must study the nature and effects

of this freedom, which can be brought about

by time. We will then study practical waysof attaining this freedom.

L 99]

Ill

THE KINGDOM OF INTELLIGENCE

IN undertaking the conquest of self it is of

the utmost importance to form strong bonds

of habit between ideas and conduct bonds

that will so absolutely unite them that when-

ever an idea comes into the mind the action

will follow it with the precision and vigor of

a reflex. But, as we have learned with dis-

couraging certainty, the emotions alone can

cause reactions in this semi-automatic fash-

ion. Such a bond between an idea the idea

of work, for example and its transformation

into actions will never be formed when one

is indifferent and cold.

It is necessary, therefore, if we would weld

an idea solidly and indestructibly to a desired

action, that we should fuse them together bythe heat of an emotion.

It is possible for them in this way to become

irrevocably united. What else is education but

the bringing into play of powerful feelings to

create habits of thought and action; that is

[100]


to say, the organization in the child's mind of

a system of connections in which ideas are

bound to other ideas, or ideas to feelings, or

ideas to acts? It is at first because he is

driven by fear, or self-conceit, or by the de-

sire to please his parents, that a child little

by little gains sufficient control over his atten-

tion to enable him to check his natural tend-

encies to make a noise and jump around,and to keep himself clean and at work. In

other words, one must take advantage of

strong natural feelings, and direct them

properly in order to break the connection be-

tween certain tendencies and their natural

expression, and to form certain strong ties

between certain ideas and certain actions,

which did not before exist.

The religious emotions of any epoch, or of

any profoundly devout movement, have a

force of extreme energy, because they are

composed of powerful feelings which are

themselves elemental and which are bound

into a coherent group. The fear of public

opinion, the respect for the authority of per-

sons clothed with sanctity, the memories ac-

cumulated by education, the fear of external


punishments, the hope of heaven, the terror

of a just and omnipresent God who sees

everything and listens to everything, discern-

ing even one's most secret thoughts, all these

are as it were, melted together into an ex-

tremely complex emotional state, which, how-

ever, appears simple to the mind. In the

burning heat of these strong feelings a link

is forged between ideas and actions. This

explains the reason why in superior religious

natures an injury does not provoke angerin such people the idea of resignation has be-

come so strong and sincere and also it ex-

plains why there is no struggle necessary to

preserve chastity. Because that sensual excite-

ment which enters the minds of those moral-

ly inferior has been annihilated, curbed and

purified. Such are excellent examples of the

triumph over our most powerful inherent

tendencies, which may be won by the single-

handed antagonism of our nobler sentiments.

Benan said,l i I feel that my life is still gov-

erned by a faith which I no longer hold, for

faith has that peculiar quality of continuingto act even after it has disappeared.

" This

is true not alone of faith. Any deep emotion

[102]


which, during any length of time, has bound

certain actions to certain ideas, may disap-

pear, but it leaves the bond which it has

formed behind it, just as in a syllogism the

middle term may disappear, but the conclu-

sion can be reached.

But among similar relations, which are so

easily established by feelings, ideas can also

group themselves in such a way as to gaincontrol of the emotional states. Nothing is

more common. In the education which wereceive in the family and at school, our par-

ents and our teachers, as we have already

seen, can weld any chain of connections which

they wish. The same is true in religion.

But when we ourselves undertake the edu-

cation of ourselves, this is no longer so. Thetask is much more complicated, it requires a

profound knowledge of our own psychologicalnature and its resources. When school-days

are over, the young people who have hitherto

been guided by their parents or their teach-

ers, and who have been held by rule to definite

regular hours of work, all at once find them-

selves thrown upon their own responsibility

in a large city, without any special prepara-

[103]


tion, without oversight, often without advice

and, above all, without any definitely ap-

pointed duties; for, to read for an examina-

tion for a degree is by no means the same

thing as to have one's hours of work laid

out from day to day by some one else. There

are no more good marks by which to check

one's work, and to serve as the only incentive.

How remote all that now seems, and how in-

efficacious; before that dreaded ordeal that

is coming at the end of the year.

But the majority of students who are re-

ceived in spite of not having worked,banish their fears and only begin to work

during the last months. It is going to be

necessary then for the student, surrounded

by untoward conditions, to subordinate

everything to the leadership of an idea, and

find support in sentiments which are already

existing in him.

This is a question of tactics, but first wemust review our resources, so that we shall

omit none, and examine closely the question

of how to bring about the necessary connec-

tion between certain ideas and certain lines

of conduct.

[104]


We shall first take up the relations of the

idea to those emotional forces which are fa-

vorable to the mastery of self.

The philosophers, alas ! too few in number,who have interested themselves in the rela-

tion between intelligence and feeling, are in-

clined to distinguish two kinds of knowledge,the purely intellectual and the knowledgethat comes from the heart. 1 This is an in-

correct way of stating a fundamental truth.

All knowledge is intellectual, but when the

knowledge is accompanied by an emotion

there is an intimate mingling of the intellec-

tual elements with those of feeling, and the

feeling which in certain ways is more over-

powering and intense than the idea, places

itself in the full light of consciousness,

and throws its associated idea into the shade.

We have already seen examples of cold dis-

passionate ideas, which, suddenly awakenedviolent emotions, so much so, that the idea

henceforward could not rise into conscious-

ness without bearing the memory of the emo-

tion along with it a memory which, after

i Compare Clay,"L 'Alternative,

"trans. Burdeau, p. 229.

F. Alcan.

twi


all, was only an emotion in the act of beingarmed. It is thus that, since my own vivid

experiences,1 I have never been able to imag-

ine myself sliding down an icy slope without

immediately experiencing a feeling of dizzi-

ness. Here there has been established a con-

nection between an idea and an emotional

state which was hitherto unknown, and which

unfortunately became automatic, following a

single experience. Can such connections be

artificially formed! If the reply were nega-

tive, there would be nothing further to do

concerning the education of the will. But wehave just seen, that all education is based

on this possibility. Nevertheless, can a stu-

dent who is under no restraint, who has onlyhimself to depend on, accomplish for him-

self as much as parents and teachers? If

he can not, the education of one's self byone's self would be impossible.

That such associations must be difficult to

establish is very certain. That they requiretime and perseverance is also certain. But

that they are possible, is, we believe, morecertain still. Therefore this possibility is

i See below, Book II, Chap. I, Sec. 1.

[106]


our hope of freedom. To make such a state-

ment is equivalent to stating that we are free.

Well, we do not hesitate to make the state-

ment. Yes, we are free; each one of us, if

he desires to, can associate certain senti-

ments with the idea of a disagreeable bit of

work which will, as a consequence, make it

easy. We say sentiments in the plural, be-

cause, as a rule, with the intellectual worker,this association calls into play a great manyemotional states. Furthermore, it is rarely

the result of a single experience as in the ex-

ample already quoted. We proceed as a de-

signer does, with successive pencil-strokes ;

each association brought into play leaves in

our consciousness, thanks to the law of habit

which begins to act from the first moment of

experience, some strokes of an outlined

sketch. Those which we achieve in momentsof strong energy bear decisive traits which

will put the finishing touches to the roughoutline of the work which will be completed

by patient retouching and filling in.

This slow elaboration is necessary because

solitary work of the mind is so foreign to

human nature. Sustained and persevering

[107]


attention is so difficult for a young man, that,

in order to struggle against the dislike which

he feels for any work in which he must stead-

ily concentrate his attention upon one idea,

he needs to marshal and drill all the emo-

tional forces which he can muster to

strengthen his will in its resistance to the

fatal power of inertia and laziness.

Thus if one asks what it is that sustains

the energy in the long and wearisome series

of efforts that must be put forth when westart in upon the task of writing a long

book, into which we throw our hearts, wewould answer that we find a powerful coali-

tion of feelings all pointing toward the same

end; the feeling of energy which gives to

work such a degree of vigor; meditation re-

warded by its results and by the joys of dis-

covery; the feeling of superiority which the

pursuit of a noble aim gives us; the feelingof strength and physical well-being which

comes from using all our pent-up energy in

a profitable manner.

We may add to these strong motives the

consciousness of the esteem of those who,while doing nothing themselves, nevertheless

[108]


follow us, some with perfect sympathy, and

others with a slight tinge of jealousy, and

also the joy of seeing our intellectual horizon

grow wider. And further, we must add

the satisfaction of our self-esteem, our ambi-

tions and anticipations; the joy of seeing

those who are dear to us happy, and finally

the noblest of motives: the feeling that one

can help many young people who are going

astray, through ignorance of the path theyshould follow, to arrive at that science of

sciences, the government of self. Selfish in-

terest in the present and in the future, as

well as altruistic and impersonal feelings,

all provide us with a rich abundance of tend-

encies, emotions, and passions which wecan call to our aid, and whose various, hith-

erto unrelated energies we can coordinate,

so that we can change what has heretofore

been a dull distasteful effort into a purposewith an attractive and brilliant outlook. Wecontemplate our work with all the warm re-

sponsive enthusiasm we possess, just as the

ardent lover pictures in his dreams the young

girl whom he loves;with this difference, how-

ever, that the creation of such illusions with

[109]


the lover are natural, while for us they are

deliberately planned, and it takes a long time

for them to spring up spontaneously.If the miser reaches the point of sac-

rificing his health, his pleasures, and even

his very honesty for the love of his money,shall not we succeed in learning to love

so noble an aim as intellectual work suffi-

ciently to make us sacrifice our laziness for

a few hours every day? Here is a merchant

who gets up at five o'clock every morning,and who until nine o'clock in the eveningis at the beck and call of his customers, in

the hope that he may some day be able to

retire and go to the country and enjoy a com-

plete rest. Should not our young peopletherefore spend at least five hours a day at

their work-table in order to assure for them-

selves, both now and in the future, the mani-

fold joys of intellectual culture? Supposingthe task is disagreeable but if one putsone's heart into it, it never is so one maybe sure by the laws of the association of

ideas that habit will make the irksome feel-

ing grow less, and that it will not be longbefore the work becomes a delight.

[110]


In fact, our power to render attractive, by

association, what was not so at first stretches

out indefinitely. We may cultivate the senti-

ments favorable to our will to the point

where they are wholly transformed. Whowould recognize in that delightful sentiment

of the mystic, who, to quote the expression of

Saint FranQois de Sales, "let his soul mingleand flow into the soul of God,

' ' a synthesis of

love and that fear of primitive men, who,whenthrown naked into the lap of nature, whose

power was so incomparably greater than

theirs, felt keenly their helplessness and their

terror of natural forces? In the same way,it is only by turning to good account this

feeling of the shortness of life,' i

this slipping

away of the hours in their imperceptible

flight, which frightens us when we think of

it, and the endless march of battalions of

tiny seconds which wear a^ay the body and

the life of men,' ' * that we can derive benefit

from it by learning not to be led away bytrivial distractions.

We most assuredly can neither stimulate

nor create feelings which do not already ex-

i Guy de Maupassant,' ' Fort comme la mort. ' '

[111]


1st in consciousness. But I do not believe

that any of the elementary feelings are lack-

ing in human consciousness. At any rate, if

there are some men who differ so profoundlyfrom their fellows it is not to such we are

speaking. We are writing a treatise for

normal young people and not a manual of

abnormalities. Moreover, such monsters do

not exist. Where, for instance, has one ever

seen men whose chief characteristic is cruel-

ty, and who never under any circumstance

whatsoever felt a sense of pity either for

their relatives or for themselves? We say

never, because if such emotions were even

rarely there, they would never grow less, andit would be possible to increase them. Weknow, on the other hand, that the most com-

plex and noble feelings are syntheses formed

by the intimate association of many elemen-

tary feelings.1 On the other hand, it is evi-

dent that vigorous and prolonged attention

of the mind upon any conscious state what-

ever tends to draw it into the full light of

consciousness, and consequently to enable it

to awaken other associated states, and to be-

i Spencer,' '

Psychology,' '

I. ch. ' ' Sentiments. ' ' Trans-lated Bibot. F. Alcan.

[112]


come a center of organization. We also

maintain (and each one may verify this byhis own experience), that we can encourageand strengthen weak, and, as it were, down-

trodden emotional states which, hitherto,

have been buffeted and mortified and keptunder by their more powerful neighbors.

They exist unseen, like the stars which shine

none the less brightly by day, altho the igno-

rant do not suspect their presence. Our

attention, which we can focus upon anystate at will, takes the place of the creative

power which we do not possess.

Otherwise how can we explain the success

of novels, and furthermore, how is it that

everybody understands them? It is because

they call forth feelings which in daily life

hardly ever have any opportunity to mani-

fest themselves. They are to life like a skir-

mish or a mimic war in the absence of warin earnest. And if the great majority of the

public can follow the romances of great mas-

ters, does it not prove that in most of the

readers the emotions are merely sleeping,

and only waiting for a call to bring themforth into the full light of consciousness ?

[113]


It would be strange if we, as masters of

our attention and imagination, could not do

for ourselves what the novelist can do for

us. But we can do it. I can, for example,create artificially in myself a feeling of rageor tenderness or enthusiasm; in short, anyemotion whose help I need in order to arrive

at any desired end.

Do we not see that scientific discoveries

have created, in the human sense of the word,

wholly new feelings ? Is there anything morecut and dried than the Cartesian doctrine of

philosophy? Nevertheless, did not this ab-

stract theory, falling in the ardent mind of

Spinoza, arrange according to a new systemall the sentiments which had hitherto been

scattered in his mind, and group them around

the powerful feeling which he possest of our

non-existence, and from that developed the

most admirable and passionate metaphysicalromance which we possess! Can one saythat the feeling of humanity is innate in

man? Is it not a conscious product, a new

synthesis of incomparable force? And is it

not evident that Mill was right when he wrote :

44 This feeling of unity with our fellow crea-

[114]


tures shall be as deeply rooted in our char-

acter, and to our own consciousness as com-

pletely a part of our nature, as the horror of

crime is in an ordinarily brought up youngperson.

" x

Therefore does it not appear that the role

of tlje intelligence is chiefly to bring togetherand to unite the elementary untrained senti-

ments into working order, and to give them

distinct expression I For by itself every emo-

tional state and every desire is vague, blind

and helpless. With the exception of the in-

stinctive feelings of anger and fear, which

can find external expression by themselves,

the majority require the cooperation of the

intelligence. They cause a certain feeling of

restlessness and discomfort in the mind, but

it is the intelligence which gives the true sig-

nificance to this feeling of discomfort. It de-

volves upon the mind to find out ways to sat-

isfy desire. If we were caught in a terrible

hurricane on Mont Blanc, suffering with

cold, and in terror of a horrible death, it

would be our intelligence that would suggest

i Stuart Mill,' '

Utilitarianism,' ' Ch. III. Trans. Le Mon-

nier. F. Alcan.

[115]


to us to hollow out a little cave in the snow-

bank where we might wait until the dangerwas over. If, like Eobinson Crusoe, we were

cast on a desert island, of what use to us

would be the longings excited by our misfor-

tune, if our intelligence did not set to workto find some means to satisfy them? If I amin poverty, and wish to escape from it, againit is my intelligence that will point out to mea distinct and definite line of action. If one

compares the vague indefinite emotion pro-duced by the sexual tendencies in a youngman who is perfectly pure and unsophisti-

cated, with the distinctness and energy with

which the desire appears after a first experi-

ence, one will understand how powerful the

intelligence is in making these emotional

states distinct. All that is necessary there-

fore, to give vigor and life to an emotion or

a desire, is to make the object to be obtained

perfectly clear in the mind, so that all its

attractive, delightful or simply useful aspects

may be brought boldly into relief.

We see, therefore, that by the mere fact

that we are intelligent and capable of fore-

sight (to know being not exactly the same

[116]


thing as to foresee), we can utilize everymeans in our power, which we have studied,

to strengthen the allied feelings; we can

bring very little direct influence from with-

out to bear on our effective states, but

our power acquires a very great scope bythe intelligent application of the laws of asso-

ciation.

We shall see that we can furthermore

double this power by placing ourselves in an

environment favorable to the development of

certain feelings, such as a family circle, or by

surrounding ourselves by certain comrades or

acquaintances, by choosing our reading and

by selecting as examples certain people whomwe wish to be like. But we shall take upat greater length elsewhere this study of the

indirect method of acting upon ourselves.

(Book V).The preceding arguments are sufficient to

give us courage. If an idea needs the heat

of an emotional state to weld it to an action,

there is no doubt at all that we can producethis heat, whenever we have need of it, not

by merely saying that we can do so, but bythe rational use of the laws of association.

[117]


Thus the supremacy of the intelligence no

longer appears impossible.

But we must examine still more closely the

relation of the idea to the affections. Feelingis a state that is diffuse, sluggish and slow to

arouse, and consequently one can foresee, on

a priori principles, what experience confirms,

viz., that feeling is a comparatively rare state

of consciousness. The range between its ap-

pearance and disappearance is very wide.

The emotions have an ebb and flow. In the in-

tervals the mind enjoys a period of calm and

tranquillity, analogous to that of the sea at

slack water. This periodic nature of the

affective states enables us to lay a very firm

foundation for the triumph of rational lib-

erty. It is also the nature of thought to be

perpetually coming and going, but a youngman who has already been educated, either

by the severe discipline of business, or

by the instruction of his parents and teach-

ers, has acquired great control over it. Hecan keep in mind for a very long time any

representation which it pleases him to retain.

In comparison with the instability of affective

states, an idea stands out in sharp contrast

[118]


by its duration and persistence. It remains

present during the flow of feeling in order to

be able to take advantage of the flood, and

so that, during its ebb it can turn to active

profit its provisorial dictatorship, in order to

start works of defense against the enemy and

reinforce its own allies.

When feeling surges up into consciousness

(we are now only concerned with feelings that

are favorable to our purposes), we must seize

the occasion to launch our bark. We must

take advantage of our good moments as if

the voice of God were calling us, to make

good resolutions.1 Whatever may be the ac-

companying feeling which invades the soul,

let us immediately make use of it for our

work. Have we heard of the success of a

comrade, and has this whipt up our wavering

will; if so then let us get quickly to work!

Quick, let us courageously clear out of the

way the task which has been tormenting us

for the last few days, because we were unable

to make up our mind to get right at it and

attack it, and also unable to get rid of the

idea that we ought to do this, so much thati Leibnitz, "New Essays,

"II., 35.

[119]


it has worn upon us like remorse. If to-day,

after reading this we feel a sentiment of the

dignity and nobility of work, then let us im-

mediately take up our pen ! Or more simply,if we experience this feeling of intellectual

and physical vigor that makes work pleasant,

then let us get right down to our task. These

favorable moments must be used in order to

form strong habits, and to taste, in such a

way as to preserve the flavor, for as long a

time as possible, the manly joys of productiveand fruitful work, and the pride of self-mas-

tery.

The feeling on ebbing away, will have left

a beneficent deposit in the form of a strongerhabit of work, the memory of the joys which

one has experienced, and of energetic resolu-

tions.

Then when the feeling has disappeared, in

the calm which succeeds it, dictatorial powerbelongs to the idea which alone remains in

consciousness. But ideas, as Schopenhauerremarks, are like the dam of the reservoir

which, when the springs of morality flow,

which they do not always do, succeeds in ac-

cumulating good sentiments, and which, when

[ 120 ]


the occasion comes, lets them be distributed

where they are needed by the canals of dis-

persion.1 This comes back to the same thing,

as we have said, namely, that the union

effected between the ideas and actions, under

the influence of the feelings, lasts, and on the

other hand, the idea, having been associated

frequently with a feeling of happiness, is able

at last, even in the absence of these actual

presentative feelings, to awaken them by the

laws of association to a slight degree only,

it is true, but nevertheless sufficiently to bringabout action.

After having studied the relations of the

intelligence to the favorable affective states,

it remains for us to study the connection be-

tween the intellect and those affective or emo-

tional states which are hostile to the work of

mastering self.

We have seen that our direct power over

our affective states, desires, and passions is

very weak, and in fact hardly appreciable.

Our means are only indirect. We have no

power over anything excepting our muscles,and the course of our ideas. We can repress

i ' ' Fondament de la morale,' '

Fr., trans F. Alcan, p. 125.

[121]


external manifestations of emotions and sup-

press their natural language. The courtezan,

and the man of the world, who is often a verytimid courtezan, standing in the greatest

dread of a most tyrannical and unenlightened

power that is to say, public opinion both

acquire to a very high degree the power of

repressing all external expression of their

hatred, anger, indignation, or disdain.

On the other hand, desire and tendencies

are absolutely apart from the exterior world;

they can only satisfy themselves by muscular

actions: anger gets satisfaction by inflicting

injuries or blows; love by embraces, kisses

and caresses. But our muscles depend uponour will, and since we can temporarily refuse

to allow our members to serve a passion, it

is clear that we can develop our power and

finally succeed in concealing our emotion

within ourselves.

Since all tendencies or feelings demand, bythe law of the conservation of energy, that

they shall spend themselves in some way,when a feeling is thus checked from the out-

side, it is thrown inward and is apt to invade

the brain and to provoke a rush of disordered

[122]


ideas, which in their turn will arouse asso-

ciated feelings. It is in this sense that Pas-

cal said: "The greater the mind the greaterthe passions.

"

But do not let us forget that the direction

of our thoughts lies in our own hands; wecan prevent the conflagration from spreadingfurther and further. Sometimes we must

even fight on the side of the fire, if we feel

that it is impossible to extinguish it, and

then, we can let our anger expend itself

in words, or in projects of vengeance, feeling

sure that we can gain control over ourselves

when the dispersion of our wrath throughthese channels shall have sufficiently appeasedthe stupid, blind emotion which forces our

wills to beat prudent retreats. We allow our

adversary to exhaust itself before we beginoffensive operations.

Sometimes we can enter into an active en-

gagement. For, we have seen that a tendencywhich is somewhat complex, because it is

blind, has always need of the intellect. It

hangs, so to speak, on an idea. It is like the

union of the shark, whose sight is weak and

whose sense of smell is wanting, with the

[123]


pilot-fish, which guides it toward its prey,and without which this monster of the sea

would plunge ahead with brute strength, but

without discernment.

Now the first effect of all passion and all

desire is to pervert the intelligence and makeits own wishes appear legitimate. There is

no lazy man who has not plenty of good rea-

sons for doing nothing, and who has not a

ready answer to offer to any one who wants

to stimulate him to work. A despot would

be wanting in understanding of his part, if

he were not imbued with a sense of his own

superiority over those whom he is ruling, andif he had not appreciated the enormous in-

convenience that liberty would be to him. Apassion legitimized by sophisms becomes for-

midable. Therefore, it is the idea, or a groupof ideas, which act as pilot to the emotional

state, that we must closely examine if we wish

to diminish the power of the latter.

It is these sophisms which we must pick to

pieces and destroy. It is the illusions with

which passion surrounds an object that wemust dispel. And thus, a distinct vision of

falsehood and error, and the consequent dis-

[124]


covery of the fallacious promises of the pres-

ent and of a deceptive future, a glimpse be-

forehand of unfortunate consequences to

our vanity, our health, our happiness and

our dignity will arouse in opposition to the

desire the necessary considerations to over-

throw it, namely, other desires and other

emotional states, which were in danger of be-

ing crowded out. These latter will hinder the

former and, even tho they do not succeed in

wholly overcoming them, they will render

their victory questionable and uncertain.

They will instil feelings of doubt and unrest

into the too tranquil mind. In this way one

must consciously raise up adversaries againstthat mental laziness that is content with

itself; adversaries, which will become adeptin the struggle, and which will finally succeed

in leading one on to more and more frequent,

and more and more decisive victories. Werecall the charming character of Cherubin in

the * '

Marriage of Figaro.' '

"I no longer know who I am," he cries;

"for some time past agitation stirs mybreast

; my heart palpitates at the very sight

of a woman; the mere words love, passion,

[125]


startle and excite it. In fact, the need of

saying to some one *I love you/ has become

so strong and imperative that I say it whenI am all alone; while walking in the park; I

would say it to your mistress, to you, e\en to

the trees, and to the wind. Yesterday I met

Marceline. . . ."

Suzanne, laughing, exclaims at this, "Ah!ah! ah! ah! ah!" To which Cherubin re-

plies: "Why not? She is a woman! She is

a girl ! A woman ! ah ! how sweet those words

are!"

If Cherubin had been capable of control-

ling himself temporarily, if he had broughthimself to look closely at Marceline and to

notice how ugly and old and stupid she was,his desire would have been seriously dimin-

ished, and that would have killed it. Atten-

tive examination would have led to the truth.

Strong passion prevents the awakening of a

critical spirit. The moment that voluntarycriticism is possible passion is in danger of

perishing. The lazy man, even he who is best

provided with excellent excuses in the form

of sophisms, has moments of enthusiasm at

certain times, when the advantages of the

[126]


happiness of work over a lazy life appear

attractive, and these moments make it impos-sible henceforward for him to lead a lazy life

without twinges of remorse.

What is possible when one sets truth

against sophisms is possible in cases which

seem even more difficult; that is, when it is

a question of trying to overthrow a sophism

by veritable voluntary illusions, or, what is

still harder, when it is necessary to oppose a

truth which, however, is contrary to the workof self-mastery, with a fabrication of useful

fictions.

It is clear that a fiction can only influence

our conduct when we lend it the support of

faith. If it is nothing more than an emptyformula, a "psittacism," a parrot-like creed,

it will be of no use to us. But here you maystop us and laugh ! What ! Are we wittingly

and deliberately to deceive ourselves and to

become voluntary dupes? That is absurd!

Yes;absurd in appearance, but perfectly ex-

plicable to any one who reflects upon the ex-

traordinary power of enfranchisement which

the laws of attention and memory can bestow

upon us.

[127]


Is it not, in fact, the most general law of

memory that all remembrances which are not

refreshed from time to time tend to become

less distinct and somewhat confused? Theygrow fainter and fainter until they disappear

altogether from common memory.1

Now, as

we are to a very large degree masters of our

attention, we can condemn a remembrance to

death by merely refusing to consider it again.

We can, on the other hand, give it whatever

intensity we wish it to have in consciousness

by continually bestowing our most vigorousattention upon it. All intellectual workers

get to the point of retaining only what theywish to retain. Everything to which they do

not return, and to which they give no further

thought, disappears absolutely from their

minds (except, of course, with a certain few

exceptions). Leibnitz thoroughly understood

what an influence this law could have upon us

when we desire finally to acquire a conviction

which we do not possess. "We can/' said he,1 'make ourselves believe what we want to be-

lieve by turning our attention away from the

i We add this word ' ' common ' ' to avoid raising the ques-tion whether anything once stored in memory is ever abso-

lutely lost.

[128]


disagreeable side of the question, and fasten-

ing it on some other aspect which pleases us;

what is accomplished is that, after we have

looked at a question in a favorable light for

some time, its truth becomes more probableto us." In fact, a conviction must neces-

sarily spring from motives in the mind, but

the very act of collecting these motives is to a

certain extent the same thing as investigat-

ing them.

But we may, if we wish, falsify this inquiryin one of two ways. First, one is free to

leave it incomplete, to refuse to glance at

certain very important considerations. As

every inquiry demands a certain activity of

spirit, and as laziness is so natural to us,

nothing is easier than to stop too soon. It is

twice as easy if we are afraid that we shall

encounter certain motives which are displeas-

ing to us. Then, when we have cut the in-

quiry short in the middle, we are also free to

appraise the values of the motives, and to

let our desires lay especial stress on those

which please us, and to scant the weight of

the others. A young man who loves a young

girl, and who has quite made up his mind to

[129]


marry her, will refuse to listen to any infor-

mation concerning her family, the condition

of their health, or the source of their income.

If it is proved that these are not all that theyshould be, what does it matter to him ! Should

a young girl be held responsible for the faults

of her ancestors ? On the other hand, if he is

seeking to free himself from certain ties

which have become irksome to him, and from

promises which in his inexperience he madeat a moment when he was overcome by his

senses, he will be terribly keen on this ques-tion of family responsibility even to the most

remote ancestors.

But it is true that our motives can hardlybe compared to weights which are alwaysidentical in value. Just as one figure placedbefore another, or before two others, makesthe number ten, or one hundred times as much,so a motive takes on different values accord-

ing to which one of several sentiments it is

associated. And as we are to a very large de-

gree the masters of these associations, we can

bestow any value or efficacy that we wish to

the ideas which we prefer.

Furthermore, we can uphold this mental

[130]


construction, or arrangement, by favorable

influences from outside;we have not only the

present at our command, but through our

memory we can use the past, and by skilful

employment of the resources of our intelli-

gence can become masters of the future. Weare free to choose our reading in such a wayas to eliminate books which would be apt to

stimulate our sexual tendencies and to pre-

dispose us to those vague sentimental day-dreams which are so favorable to laziness.

We can above all cut off all companionship,either by a distinct break or by distant cold-

ness, with comrades who, by the tendency of

their minds, their character, or their manner

of life, would only strengthen any evil tend-

encies which we might have and lead us

into dissipation and various excesses, and

who know how to invent plausible excuses for

their laziness. We do not all possess a mentor

who will throw us into the sea at the critical

moment of danger, but there is a very simple

way of having nothing to fear on the Isle

of Perdition, and that is never to gonear it.

Here, then, is a list of all the means with

[131]


which we can struggle against the powerfulenemies of right. We can refuse to let them

express themselves in the language which is

natural to them; we can employ clever strat-

egy to undermine the errors and the sophismson which our desires hang, and even whollyto discredit their baleful truths. We can

combine with these means of action an intelli-

gent arrangement of external measures, such

as withdrawing from an environment which

would keep on inflaming our passions, and

thus avoid conditions which would favor

their development.But this collection of tactical procedures

constitutes preparation for work rather than

work itself. This preparation may be sud-

denly interrupted by some passion which has

developed in spite of our efforts, or which

more often has been profiting by our inat-

tention and the somnolence of our will. But

when the storm begins to threaten, when sen-

sual feelings, for example, begin to rise into

consciousness, it must not be forgotten that

ideas are the sources from which such pas-

sion derives its nourishment, and that these

ideas which passion would like to embrace

[132]

THE KINGDOM OF INTELLIGENCE>

' -^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^

for its own purposes we can, at least, attemptto use for our ends. If the struggle is un-

equal, if the conflagration is gradually gain-

ing headway whatever happens, our "fine

pure superior will," that "trenchant blade,

sharp point of the sword of the spirit,"1

must never consent. But as this tide of emo-

tional states does not consist of a single

force, nor a solitary burst of feeling, but of

many forces at variance with each other, the

more powerful masking the opposing and

vanquished forces in the tumultuous rush, it

is necessary for us to bring all our attention

and sympathy to bear upon our weaker allies.

Possibly we shall be able to rally them and

to reopen a victorious attack upon them, or

at least to beat a retreat in good order. Atall events we shall be able to regain control

of ourselves more easily and rapidly and

more completely than otherwise. For exam-

ple, when a feeling of sensuality overcomes

us, we must never for a single moment lose

sight of the shame of our defeat;we can call

up and perhaps retain in the mind a sort

of distinct foretaste of the feeling of depres-i Saint Francois de Sales :

' ' Introduction a la Vie devote.' '

Part IV.

[133]


sion which will follow the gratification, the

loss of a good day of active, productive work.

In the same way, when an attack of laziness

comes on, such as most workers have, even

tho we may not be able to overcome our

inertia or to conquer the revolts of the dulli i brute " within us, we can recall to mind the

delight of work and of the sense of self-mas-

tery. The attack will then assuredly not be

so long, and recovery will be easier. It is

often even a good plan, for example, to give

up the direct struggle and calm the sensual

emotion by getting up and going out to take

a walk or by going to make a visit; or, in a

word, by trying to eliminate the fixt idea by

wearing it out, or by disturbing it, or at least

by obliging it to share its consciousness with

other states which we can introduce artifi-

cially. In the same way we can deceive our

laziness by reading a book of travel, or by

drawing, or by making music;then when the

spirit moves again, we must take advantageof its alertness to tempt it to return to the

work that was abandoned a little while before

by reason of our faint-heartedness or by our

slothful feelings.

[134]


Finally, even tho our will may have been

beaten, which is frequently apt to happen, wemust not lose courage. It is enough if, like

a swimmer who meets a rapid current, wemake ever so little headway. It is even

enough to prevent us from losing hope en-

tirely if we are swept along less rapidly than

we would have been if we had let ourselves

go altogether. Time will accomplish what wewant. It is time which forms habits and

which gives them the strength and energy of

natural tendencies. The power of the manwho never despairs is marvelous. In the Alpsthere are granite gorges over three hundred

feet in depth. It is the incessant wearing of

the water burdened with sand that throughcountless summers has worn these prodigiouschasms

; just so the smallest actions repeated

indefinitely achieve in the end results out of

all proportion to their causes. It is true that

unlike nature, we have not hundreds of cen-

turies at our disposal, but neither do we have

to hollow out granite. The only problem that

we have is how to make use of bad habits in

such a way as gradually to transform them

into good ones. Our object is only to confine

[135]


our sensuality and laziness within reasonable

bounds, without hoping to eradicate them

entirely.

Moreover, our very defeats can be turned

to good advantage, proving all the more how

many resources we have for our self-perfec-

tion! For example, the feeling of rancor,

that species of bitter disgust, physical

fatigue, and intellectual weakness with which

sensual gratification leaves us, is an excellent

thing to keep constantly before our minds,

so as to feel its unpleasantness and to fix its

effects firmly in our memory.A few days of absolute laziness never fail

to awaken a feeling of intolerable boredom,

accompanied by a disgust with ourselves

which is most valuable if we use it for our

profit. It is a good thing occasionally to have

such experiences in as distinct and conclusive

a form as possible, for, by comparison, virtue

and work appear what they are in reality,

sources of unqualified happiness, and the in-

spiration of all the nobler and more forceful

feelings: the consciousness of one's own

strength, pride in being able to feel that one

is a well-trained worker, thoroughly prepared

[136]


to render important service to his fellows and

to his country. In this struggle for freedom,there are certain kinds of defeat that are

worth as much as victories.

But it is time to leave these general con-

siderations. We have thus far established

the fact that one may unite into a firmly or-

ganized system certain volitions and cer-

tain series of actions;and inversely that one

may break the most firmly established harm-

ful associations. The conclusion that these

facts bring us to is, that the education of

one's own will by one's self is possible.

It now remains for us to study carefully

the manner of forming such associations;that

is to say the most efficacious measures bywhich we can learn to gain control over self.

The best of these measures, and the most

efficacious are subjective in their origin and

in their method of approaching the subject.

These are the purely psychological processes.

The others are what we shall call external

or objective processes. They consist of the

intelligent employment of resources which

any one who thoroughly understands how to

make use of the outside world will find at his

disposal.

[137]

BOOK III

THE INTERNAL MEASURES

THESE internal means whose efficacy is in-

fallible in creating, strengthening or destroy-

ing certain emotional states, and which ought

necessarily to be used before the employmentof the external measures include : (I) Medita-

tive reflection; (II) Action.

We shall consider in the appendix the sub-

ject of bodily hygiene in its relation to the

special kind of energy which we have taken

as a subject of study; that is to say, to intel-

lectual work.

[13*1

THE PART OF MEDITATIVE REFLECTION INTHE EDUCATION OF THE WILL

WE say meditative reflection in order

sharply to distinguish this intellectual opera-tion from others which are similar. It goeswithout saying that we do not mean by these

words revery and certainly not that senti-

mental revery which is, as we have seen, one

of the enemies against which we must ener-

getically wage war in this work of self-mas-

tery. While in revery or day-dreams the at-

tention sleeps, allowing a troop of ideas and

sentiments to dance lightly in and out of con-

sciousness, permitting the whimsical and un-

foreseen combinations according to chance

associations of ideas, meditative reflection

leaves nothing to chance.

Nevertheless, it differs wholly from studywhich aims to acquire exact knowledge, in

that its tendency is not to stock the mind with

facts, but to make it glow with creative

energy, or as Montaigne has said, "to forgethe mind, not furnish it."

1 In studyi Montaigne, III, 3.

[141]


knowledge is what we pursue; in meditative

reflection it is quite otherwise. Our object is

to inspire emotions of hatred or love in the

soul. In study we are governed by a desire

to find out the truth;in meditative reflection

the truth is not the thing that most concerns

us. We prefer a useful illusion to a harmful

truth: our entire resource is dominated ex-

clusively by a motive of utility.

In order to carry on this operation with

profit it is necessary thoroughly to under-

stand psychology. Even the slightest details

of the science of our nature must be familiar

to us.

We must be acquainted with the causes

of our intellectual acts and volitions. Wemust be able to trace the relations which these

phenomena bear one to another, and to ex-

amine their reciprocal influence, their associa-

tions and their combinations. And we must

above all know the influences of our physical,

intellectual, and moral environment on our

psychologic life.

All this requires a strong habit of observa-

tion, of very keen and subtle observation, cul-

tivated from the utilitarian point of view.

[142]

MEDITATIVE REFLECTION

Therefore, we^nust again repeat that our

task consists in patiently seeking out such

motives as are capable of awakening in us

outbursts of love or hatred, and of formingcertain strong combinations and associations

between certain ideas and other ideas, be-

tween certain sentiments and other senti-

ments, and between ideas and sentiments, or

else in breaking those associations which weconsider to be harmful. It consists in usingthe laws of attention and memory in order

to efface from consciousness or to engrave

upon it whatever we consider wise or neces-

sary to efface or to engrave there. We must"distil favorable ideas and sentiments in our

soul," and must then transform these ab-

stract ideas into warm, living, affective feel-

ings. Meditative reflection alone attains its

end when it is able to provoke powerful affec-

tive movements or strong repulsions. While

study leads to knowledge, meditative reflec-

tion should lead to action.

If we bear in mind that action is the whole

expression of man, that his worth depends

upon what he does, and if on the other hand

we remember that our actions are almost

[143]


wholly, if not altogether, provoked by the

affective states, we shall understand at once

the great importance of carefully studyingthe delicate mechanism by which the affective

states favorable to our ends may be developedand increased.

In chemistry we learn that if one plungesa crystal into a solution in which several sub-

stances are held in saturation, the molecules

of the same nature as the crystal, drawn to-

gether from the depths of the solution bysome mysterious attraction, will begin to

group themselves slowly around it. The crys-

tal grows little by little, and if it is kept per-

fectly quiet for weeks or months, it will form

those wonderful crystals whose size and

beauty are the joy and pride of the labora-

tory. But if the solution be constantly jarredor disturbed, the deposit will be formed ir-

regularly, the crystal will be imperfect and

will remain small. The same thing is true

in psychology. If one keeps any psycholog-ical state whatever in a foreground of con

sciousness it will insensibly, by an affinity no

less mysterious than the other, graduallyattract to itself other intellectual and affec-

[144]


tive states of the same nature. If this con

dition is kept up for a long time, it will

gather around it an organized group of

forces of considerable power, and will acquirea decisive and almost absolute control in

consciousness, silencing every other idea that

is opposed to it. If this"crystallization

"

goes on slowly without disturbance or inter-

ruption it will acquire a remarkably strongcharacter. The group of feelings thus

formed will be sharply defined, powerful and

calm. And, here we may note that there is

perhaps no idea which can not if we so wish,

create within us such a group or "clan" of

associated ideas. Keligious ideas, maternal

feeling, and even such low, despicable senti-

ments as love of money for its own sake, mayrise up in us and gain this powerful ascend-

ency.

But few are the men and still fewer are

the young men who possess the calmness

necessary to carry on this work of slow

"crystallization." For the student, life is

too easy and too full of variety, especially in

Paris or any other large city. A host of

excitements of every kind come from without

[145]


knocking at the door of one's conscious-

ness. One idea follows another, and then

comes still another; every feeling is followed

by twenty or thirty other different feelings

that join in a mad race after it. Add to this

invasion the thousands of sensations which

assail the senses; add the interests of the

town, the newspapers and conversation and

you can only compare the course of such

ideas through consciousness of the tumultu-

ous rush of a torrent which dashes wildlywith a deafening roar against the rocks

which lie in its channel.

Those who have stood aside for a momentto reflect, and who look beyond the presentmoment and try to catch a glimpse of the

future, are very few. It is so easy to throw

one's mind open to the visits of these un-

related impressions! It requires so little

effort! One has only to shake off care and

let one's self go ! As Channing has remarked,"the majority of men know as little of them-

selves as they do of the countries in Central

Africa. ' ' 1

They never voluntarily turn their

attention from the outside world to examine

i"0n Personal Education. "

[146]


themselves: or rather, as they have thrown

their consciousness wide open to everything

outside, they have never had the courage to

fathom this torrent of outside interests and

ascertain the actual rock-bottom depth of

their own beings. The result is that they

go through life drawn hither and thither byoutside happenings, with scarcely any orig-

inality, or without any more control of their

direction than have the leaves which are

whirled about by the autumn wind. Theydraw no profit from their experiences; for

to let one's interest wander in every direc-

tion is equivalent to having no real interest

in anything. Only those draw a profit from

their experiences who plunge into the tor-

rent of their impressions without being car-

ried away by them and who are sufficiently

cool and self-possessed to snatch the differ-

ent circumstances, ideas and feelings which

they choose to possess, as they pass by, and

which they will later ponder over, study and

assimilate.

Once we are clearly conscious of the end

we have in view, which is to strengthen our

will, and particularly our will to work, we

[147]


must learn constantly to choose which of all

the external circumstances, impressions,

ideas and sentiments, we consider sufficiently

favorable to our work, to be received and re-

tained until they have made their impression

upon us, and to let those that are unfavorable

flow by without paying any attention to them.

The secret of success is to profit by every-

thing that we can use for our own ends.

The preceding studies clearly indicate that

our work must be done along the following

psychological lines :

1. When a favorable sentiment passes

through consciousness we must prevent it

from disappearing too quickly; we must fix

the attention on it and make it waken all the

ideas and sentiments which it can arouse. In

other words, cause it to become as prolific as

possible and to yield everything it has to

give.

2. When we lack a certain sentiment alto-

gether, or when we can not arouse it within

us, we must find out which idea or group of

ideas has an affinity for it, and fix our atten-

tion on these ideas and keep them clearly in

consciousness and wait until, by the natural

[148]


play of association, the sentiment is called

forth.

3. When a sentiment that is unfavorable to

our work intrudes itself into our conscious-

ness, we must refuse to pay any attention

to it, and endeavor, not even to think about

it, and to let it, as it were, perish of inani-

tion.

4. When an unfavorable sentiment has

sprung up and has gained our attention

without our being able to thrust it out, wemust bring every unfavorable criticism to

bear upon all the ideas upon which the senti-

ment hangs and even upon the object of the

sentiment as well.

5. We must look sharply and closely at all

external circumstances of life, examiningeven most minute details in such a way that

we may intelligently use all the resources

and avoid all the dangers that they present.

This, so to speak, is the general programwhich we must try to follow.

But there are several points upon which

we must insist. When the student has

grasped the idea of the importance of not"fleeing from himself,

" when he perceives

[149]


that distraction is just as much a sign of

weakness as a trembling in the limbs, he will

learn to find time for concentration of

thought, he will cease to dissipate his mental

energy as his companions do. He will not

read ten newspapers an afternoon, nor waste

his time in playing cards, nor excitedly dis-

cussing trifles till his brain whirls with so

many interests. He will make it a point of

honor to be master of himself and he will

not allow himself to be swept helplessly

along by the current that carries the others

down the stream.

The most efficacious way of attaining this

mastery of self is to arouse vigorous likes or

vehement dislikes in the soul. He must there-

fore try to keep in mind certain reflections

which will help him to make himself love

work and detest an easy, useless, stupid,

idle life. His own experience will furnish

him plenty of such reflections at any moment.

He must not let them be hurried immediate-

ly out of his mind by other ideas. He must

make a determined effort to realize them. Hemust insist upon developing them as fully as

possible. Instead of thinking with words as

[150]


the majority of people do, he must be able

to see distinctly and in detail what it is that

he is reflecting upon. To see a thing in gen-

eral, as one who runs, is the method of lazy

minds. Reflective minds, on the contrary, dis-

til their thoughts drop by drop and "make

honey" out of the different points of their

meditations.

Each one knows, for example, and saysthat work brings many kind of joys, amongwhich are the following : First, there are the

intense satisfaction of self-esteem, the very

joy of feeling one's own faculties growstrong and keen, that of showering happiness

upon one's relatives, and of preparing one's

self for a happy old age. But our student

must not content himself with a purely verbal

enumeration of these joys. Words are

short, easy signs which take the place in

thought of the more complex things them-

selves, which are hard to express and which

require a greater effort of the imaginationin proportion as the details are more numer-

ous. Thus lazy people think abstract, inan-

imate ideas in words, with the result, that

they retain for their spiritual life


amounts to nothing. Moreover, words follow

one another so quickly and call up such a

multitude of pictures that none of them

achieve any distinctness. As a result, these

superficial evocations merely fatigue the

mind uselessly. A sort of stupefaction is

produced by this jumble of images which

comes to nothing. The remedy for this evil

is to see things clearly and in great detail.

For example do not say: "My parents will

be pleased !" but call up a picture of your

father, imagine that you are seeing the mani-

festation of his joy at each of your successes,

picture him receiving the congratulations of

his friends and his family. Try to imagine

your mother's pride, and her pleasure dur-

ing the vacation when she strolls up and

down on the arm of the son of whom she is

so proud; imagine yourself invisibly presentat the evening meal where they are talking

of you. Perhaps you will even gain a stimu-

lating idea from the charming vanity of the

little sister who is so proud of her big

brother. In other words try, by picturing to

yourself the very details and gestures and

words they will use, to taste all the sweet-

[152]


ness there is in being loved by those whoare willingly and gladly making great sacri-

fices and depriving themselves of many com-

forts in order to make your youth more

happy, and who are bearing the burden of

existence for you so as to leave your youngshoulders free.

In the same way you must paint a picture

complete in every trifling detail of old age

crowning a life of work the authority of

your sayings and writings, the respect that

everybody shows you, the great interest that

remains in life even when it is deprivedof many pleasures. Then again you must

taste to the full and, as it were, roll under

your tongue, the sweets of independencewhich work brings, the feeling of force and

power which it develops, the innumerable

happinesses that it brings to the energetic,

and the joys which it renders doubly dear.

After one has often meditated along such

lines and others of a like nature; when one

has let thought become impregnated, as it

were, with their perfume, it is impossible not

to have one's will stimulated by a strong but

quiet enthusiasm. But we must lay stress

[153]


upon this point again; when an ardent emo-

tion makes itself felt it must have plenty of

scope to expend its energy. Even, altho it

may be a case of a feeling which has sud-

denly entered the consciousness from some

outside event, as, for instance, in a celebration

in honor of some famous man, one should im-

mediately appropriate the feeling of enthu-

siasm for one's own and set to work to de-

velop and strengthen it.

It is unnecessary to add that, when these

considerations are of such a nature as to give

us an aversion for the life which we are try-

ing to avoid, we must in the same way form

as clear and detailed an idea of them as pos-

sible. We must dwell in great detail uponthe horrors of a lazy life. One of the

ancient's remarks that we do not notice a

grain of pepper if we swallow it, but if wechew it, and turn it over and over with the

tongue, it will sting the palate with its sharp

biting flavor, and make one sneeze and weep.One must figuratively do the same thing con-

cerning laziness and sensuality, so that we

may provoke in ourselves a feeling of dis-

gust and shame. The disgust should not be

[154]


applied to the evil only, but to all' ' on which

it depends and which depends on it." Onemust not be like the gourmand to whom his

physicians forbade melon, which, every time

he ate it brought on a serious relapse. Hedid not eat it because the doctors told himhe would die if he did so, but he repined and

lamented over his deprivation, and talked

about it to every one; he wanted at least

to smell melons, and he thought those peoplewho could eat them altogether too fortunate.1

In the same way, one must not only despisea life of idleness, that miserable state in

which the empty, unoccupied mind preys uponitself and in turn becomes the prey of mean,

contemptible thoughts, but one must go still

further and abstain from envying a life of

idle ease, or even talking about it. We mustshun companions who would incline us to

a desultory do-nothing existence, and such

pleasures as would lead to it. In short, wemust not only detest the disease, but the

melon which brings on the attacks.

As we have already seen, the great secret

in fortifying any sentiment whatsoever is

i Saint Francois de Sales :' ' Introduction a la Vie devote. ' J

[155]


continually to summon into consciousness,

and to keep there as long as possible all the

ideas on which it hangs, and to bring these

ideas into relief and give them very great

vigor and precision. It is of the greatest

value actually to see a thing in every char-

acteristic detail. Futhermore, this method

enables the sentiment to develop by the veryattraction which it exerts over similar senti-

ments and by the richness of the meditation

which they together inspire. In order to

help this work along, it is a very good idea

to plan one's readings with the definite pur-

pose of cultivating some particular sentiment.

The examples which we shall develop in the

practical part of the book will perhaps be

helpful to those who have never been in the

habit of reflecting in this way. The books

which set forth the joys of study and the bar-

renness of an idle life will be of great value

in this direction. The reading of memoirs,such as those of Mill and letters like those

of Darwin, may also be of use.

If meditation has been carried on success-

fully ;if one has managed to arrange to have

perfect calm within and without, and to have

[156]


that silence which allows emotional move-

ments to work until they have stirred the very

depths of consciousness, one will surely ar-

rive at the point of forming a resolution.

But even if no resolution is attained, it mustnot be imagined that such efforts have not

helped us to advance. As Mill has remarked,"His aspirations and powers when he is in

this exceptional state become the type with

which he compares and by which he estimates

his sentiments and proceedings at other

times; and his habitual purposes assume a

character molded by and assimilated to the

moments of lofty sentiment, altho these, from

the psychical nature of a human being can

only be transient. ' ' 1

In fact, we are verymuch like those instruments which, they say,

improve under the touch of a great artist.

When we have steadfastly for a long time

meditated upon life as a whole, it is impossi-

ble for the present moment not to have a verydifferent significance from what it has whenwe live from day to day, and when we have

once lived through in imagination the joyswhich work gives, and suffered the bitter-

1 Mill,( l

Subjection of Women. ' '

[157]


ness of a life of weakness and inertia. There

is no possible question but that our thoughtand activity have received a vigorous and

energetic impulse. Unfortunately, if we do

not return frequently to our rough outline

plan, to complete the sketch and strengthenits ideas, the flood of outside interests sweep-

ing afresh through consciousness will soon

efface everything. We can never reap a har-

vest of actions from good impulses unless

we repeat them frequently.

It is most important, therefore, at such

times not to be readily influenced by a massof outside impressions. One must learn to

concentrate one's thoughts and allow time for

the wave of enthusiasm for work and the

feelings of repulsion against laziness to ac-

complish their end, which is to lead the mindto make strong resolutions.

An active, distinctly formulated resolution

is in this task of self-regeneration an absolute

necessity. One may, for convenience, classify

resolutions into two groups, both produced

by meditation. There are the broad general-

ized resolutions which take in our entire ex-

istence, and which give a definite direction to

[158]

MEDITATIVE EEFLECTION

life toward one goal. These resolutions gen-

erally occur after a long period of hesitation

between two possible walks in life. Moreoften still they are the result of severe strug-

gle, and mark the moment of enthusiasm in

which a strong mind definitely determines to

resist the suggestions and entreaties of his

family, or relations, or friends who are in-

terested in worldly affairs; and not to pay

any attention to those arguments which tend

to switch the life of a young man onto the

main thoroughfare frequented by the ma-

jority.

For weak and sheeplike natures, resolu-

tions are nothing more than the shame-faced

cowardly peace of the vanquished. They rep-

resent the triumph of mediocrity in them, the

definite abandonment of every effort of re-

sistance, the acceptance of the life that every-

body leads and a still further refusal to listen

to the entreaties of a higher ideal than that

which suits the mediocre quality of their

minds. Between these two wholly distinct

positions which lead on to irrevocable con-

clusions, one finds every degree of weakness

in young people who are trying to get hold

[159]


of themselves, and who can not succeed in

ignoring the call of the higher life, but who,from lack of will are constantly sliding back

into the life which they despise. They are like

embittered revolting slaves who can not recon-

cile themselves to accept their bondage as

those did who went before them. They perceivethe beauty of a useful life, and yet they can

not make themselves work; they suffer fromthe barrenness of a life of idleness, and yetcontinue to do nothing. But such men can

be freed from their slavery by a knowledgeof the laws of psychology if, only, they do

not despair of their release too soon, and if

they will but accept the fact that it can not

be accomplished immediately.If such resolutions have any value it lies in

the fact that to a certain extent they maybe regarded as a conclusion. They are the

expression in a short precise formula of a

great number of slight inclinations, experi-

ences, reflections, readings, sentiments, and

tendencies.

For example, we must choose for our

main line of conduct between two great

hypotheses which deal with the general ob-

[160]


jeet of the universe. We may either hold

with the skeptics, that the world as it nowexists is in some way the result of a happystroke of the gods which will never happen

again, that life and consciousness only ap-

peared upon this globe by chance, or else wemust accept the opposite theory and believe

that the universe is undergoing a process of

evolution toward a higher and higher state

of perfection.

The skeptical hypothesis has only this sin-

gle argument: we can know nothing; we are

shut off in this corner of the universe, in this

exiled bit of space. It would be the greatest

presumption to formulate the nothing which

we know into universal laws. The opposing

theory has the advantage of being based on

facts and in a certain way on possession. Weonly know our own world; but it is a well-

ordered world and has been so for a long

time, for the presence of life presupposes the

invariable stability of the laws of nature. If

to-day, for example, wheat, along with its

visible characteristics, possest certain edible

qualities which to-morrow were wholly dif-

ferent and the next day poisonous, no life

[161]


could be organized. I perceive, therefore,

that since the laws of nature are constant,

and as life dates back to the Silurian period,

the laws of nature must have been what theynow are for several million years. This is

what we refer to when we say that the

"moral theory" has the right of possession.

On the other hand, this lengthy evolution,

which has lasted for so many thousands of

years, has produced thinking beings, and the

thinking beings have produced moral be-

ings. How, then, can we admit that the marchof events does not tend toward thought and

morality? Natural history and human his-

tory both teach that the struggle for exist-

ence with all its horrors has nevertheless

achieved the formation of a higher form of

humanity. Furthermore, thought, like life,

implies order and constancy. Chaos is un-

thinkable. To think means to organize and

to classify. Are not thought and conscious-

ness, therefore, the only realities which weknow? To accept the skeptical theoryamounts to the same thing as to proclaim that

the only known reality is a chimera. Such a

proclamation can mean nothing to us. It is a

[162]


mere verbal utterance that has nothing to

support it.

Theoretically, then, the arguments in fa-

vor of the moral theory are very strong.

Practically, they are decisive. The outcome

of the skeptical theory is a justification of

personal selfishness and a refusal to recog-

nize the value of anything but utility. If

virtue deserves praise, it is only by reason of

its superior usefulness.

We may add to these considerations the

fact that choice is not optional; it is obliga-

tory for not to choose is, after all, the sameas choosing. To accept a life of idleness and

pleasure is practically the same thing as to

accept the hypothesis that human life has

no value except as an instrument of pleasure.

Which theory in its simplicity and naivete is

in the highest degree unmetaphysical. Manypeople have much more of the metaphysicianin them than they think: they merely do not

know that they have such powers. That is all.

It is impossible, therefore, not to choose

between these two great metaphysical hy-

potheses. The choice may, perhaps, not take

place until after some years of study and

[163]


reflection. Then all at once, without warn-

ing, some particular argument will suddenlystand out in sharper relief than the rest, and

the grandeur and the beauty of the moral

theory will suddenly dawn upon the soul, and

the resolution will be made. Such a resolu-

tion can only come when one accepts the

moral theory, because it alone furnishes a

reason for our existence, and explains our

efforts to do right, and our struggles against

injustice and immorality. Once the choice is

made skeptical arguments can not for a mo-

ment enter the mind; for one thrusts them

out with disdain because there is a higher aim

than mere pleasure for the philosopher;

namely, the desire to act and act honestly.

Moral faith henceforward becomes a jealous-

ly guarded principle of life and gives fresh-

ness and sublimity to existence which is

wholly unknown to the dilettante, who can

not call forth strong emotions and transform

his thoughts into virile activity.

Life takes a definite direction after this

solemn resolution has been made. Our ac-

tions cease to be upset or diverted by every

trifling outside happening. We are no longer

[164]


merely obedient tools in the hands of menmore energetic than ourselves. Even whenwe are buffeted by storms, we know how to

keep upon our way. We are ripe for nobler

endeavors. Such a resolution is like the die

to the coin. Long use may efface some of

the traits, but one can not help recognizing

the strong lines of the design stamped uponthe metal.

A great moral resolution of this nature

must be accompanied by still another resolu-

tion in one's heart. Like Hercules, tormented

between vice and virtue, one must resolutely

make up one's mind to accept a life of workand reject a life of indolence.

Enough has been said concerning these

general resolutions which one seldom makesmore than once in a lifetime. These solemn

resolutions are the acceptation of an ideal

and the affirmation of some great truth which

has been borne in upon us.

But we do not attain the goal at a single

leap; we can attain it only by willing the

means to do so. Thoughtful inquiry and studywill show us the best means to adopt. Nat-

urally we must will to learn how to attain the

[165]


end, for all volition implies resolution. But

we will find that these particular resolutions

become singularly easy when the great reso-

lution has been carefully and thoughtfullytaken. They flow from it as corollaries flow

from a theorem. Supposing we have taken

a resolution which involves a translation of

Aristotle, it is always possible for us to con-

centrate our thoughts particularly on those

things which will incline us toward such a

task; if the text in itself is nonsense it can

not be denied that the effort of reading into

a page a meaning which it never possest is

a vigorous mental gymnastic. The mental

astuteness developed by the hand-to-hand

struggle with every word and sentence, and

by the effort to discover a logical sequence,

will make itself felt, if after a week of such

work one's sharpened wits are applied to a

page of Descartes' Meditations or a chapterof Stuart Mill.

The ease with which one can then graspsuch studies will make one feel like those

Roman soldiers who were required to per-

form their drill bearing a burden twice as

great as that required in time of war. If the

[166]

MEDITATIVE EEFLECTION

main underlying resolution is always present,

it will nearly always be found when it comes

to any particular resolution, that simple, fa-

miliar, definite considerations are sufficient

to arouse the will to action.

From this discussion we can see how much

greater success lecturers and professors

might have in teaching, if at the begin-

ning of each new line of work they would givea little exposition and set forth in a persua-sive way the general and particular advan-

tages that the scholars would derive fromthese studies. I can say for myself that I

studied Latin for years with the greatest

aversion because no one had pointed out its

usefulness to me: on the other hand, I have

cured many pupils of this dislike which they

already had by making them read and then

by discussing with them the charming exposi-

tion of Mr. Fouillee on the importance of

classical studies.

An objection of some kind will no doubt

still persist in the minds of some of our

readers. They have frequently heard it said

that prolonged meditation and practical

activity never go hand in hand, and that

[167]


thinkers are as a rule badly equipped for

practical life, and fail to appreciate the

value that prolonged meditative reflection has

upon action. This is because they confuse

men who are merely busy with men of action

who are truly worthy of the name. The rest-

lessly busy man is quite the opposite of the

man of action. He needs to be always bus-

tling about: his activity expresses itself byactions which frequently have no relation to

each other from day to day. But as success

in life, in politics, etc., is only obtained bythe steady continuation of efforts in the same

direction, this fluttering, buzzing restlessness,

tho it makes a great deal of noise, accom-

plishes little or nothing in the way of goodhonest work. All well-directed activity byany man who is sure of himself implies pro-found meditation. Great men of action like

Henry IV and Napoleon spent hours in re-

flection either alone or with their ministers

before deciding to adopt a definite course.

(Sully). He who does not meditate, who does

not always keep in mind the main object to

be pursued, who does not carefully think out

the best way to take each step in his progress,

[168]


must necessarily become the sport of circum-

stances. Any unforeseen emergency will dis-

turb him, and as these arise he constantlystrikes out blindly to repel them, with the

result that he finally loses his perspective

altogether. Action, therefore, must accom-

pany reflective meditation : otherwise the lat-

ter will have no value, altho it is the neces-

sary condition of all active productive life.

We say a necessary condition, because

none of us know ourselves as well as wethink we do. There is good reason for dis-

couragement when it is remembered that

there is hardly one man in a thousand whohas real personality. Nearly all men in their

general conduct, as well as in their particular

actions, are like marionettes drawn together

by a combination of forces which are infi-

nitely more powerful than their own. Theyno more live an individual life than does a

piece of wood which is tossed into the tor-

rent, and which is carried away without know-

ing either how or why. To use a well-known

illustration, they are like weather-cocks,

twirled hither and thither, conscious of their

movements but not conscious of the wind that

[169]


moves them. Education, the powerful sug-

gestions of language, the extremely strong

pressure which public opinion brings to bear

as well as the opinion of one's comrades, the

sententious maxims of the worldly and finally

our own natural tendencies, guide the major-

ity of us, and those minds are rare indeed,

which, in spite of the unsuspected currents

that are always carrying them out of their

course, nevertheless resolutely pursue their

onward progress toward the port which theyhave chosen in advance, and who are wise

enough to stop frequently to take their bear-

ings and correct their course.

Even for those who are brave enough to

undertake their own regeneration, the time

which they have at their command is really

very short ! Until, perhaps, the age of twenty-seven one goes along without thinking verymuch about one's destiny, and by the time one

begins to desire to have some plan of life, one

finds one's self involved in the machinerywhich carries one along with it. Sleep alone

takes a third of existence; and regular du-

ties, such as dressing, eating, and digestion,

the demands of society, the discharge of

[1701


one's business or profession, as well as mis-

fortunes and illness leave very little time for

the higher life! One goes on and on; one

day follows another, and one is old before

one begins to see clearly the reason for exist-

ence. That wonderful power, the Catholic

Church, which knows where she is leading her

people and which, by her confessional and

her methods of directing souls along the lines

of the most profound truths of practical

psychology, has built a broad road for this

great troop of marionettes. She upholds the

feeble who walk unsteadily, and pushes alongin the same general direction this multitude

which without her would degenerate or would

remain, from the moral point of view, on the

same level as animals.

It is indeed incredible how readily almost

every one is influenced by outside suggestion.

First of all comes family education, but fam-

ilies of philosophers are rare! Bare in con-

sequence are the children who receive a ra-

tional education. Even those who are fa-

vored with such an education live in an

atmosphere of stupidity. The people around

him, the servants and friends who are

[171]


wholly influenced by public opinion, stuff the

child's mind with the formulas current in

society. Even if the family could raise bar-

riers high enough to keep out these preju-

dices, the child would have some teachers

with very little power of reflection, and com-

panions who shared the spirit of the world.

Furthermore, living among his fellows, even

the well-brought-up child will speak the lan-

guage of his companions ;but language has

its origin in the people, the multitude has

created it in its own image. It has pouredinto it its mediocrity, its hatred for every-

thing that is superior, its stupid childish

judgment which never goes beyond experi-

ences. Language also contains a vast num-

ber of associated ideas eulogizing wealth

and power, and feats of war, and cast-

ing contempt on goodness and disinterest-

edness, and on a simple life and intellec-

tual work. We are all remarkably submis-

sive to these pernicious suggestions. Do youwant a proof of it in yourself? Let some one

say the word "grandeur," and it is a hun-

dred to one that the word will call up ideas

of sovereignty and pomp before it makes you

[172]


think of moral grandeur. Every one will

think of Caesar and none of Epictetus. Is

good fortune the topic? Then ideas of workand power and applause will spring into the

mind ! Test, as I have done, a dozen charac-

teristic words which express the ideas that

make life worth living to a thinker; make it

clearly understood that you are interested,

from a psychological point of view, in finding

out what images are created in the mind bythese words, so that there will he no doubt

concerning the bearing of the exercise and

you will be edified. You will come to the con-

clusion that language is the most powerfulinstrument of suggestion which stupid, vulgar

ignorance can wield to check the progress of

noble minds.

Naturally every comrade of our student

holds a bunch of bonds on this bank of uni-

versal stupidity, which he will convert for

himself into ready money as fast as he has

need of them for his daily expenses. Prov-

erbs and maxims contain in a pithy and witty

form the sage sayings of nations; that is to

say, the observations of people who did not

know even the elementary rules of careful ob-

[173]


servation, and who had not the slightest idea

of what constitutes a convincing observation.

These proverbs, repeated incessantly, finally

acquire an authority which it is bad form to

dispute. If one is speaking of a young manwho is stupidly sacrificing pleasures which

are truly worthy of the name to the vanityof making the rounds of the restaurants with

a capricious woman of the town, some im-

portant personage who wishes to appearbroad in his ideas will say: "Well, youthmust have its fling.

' ' Sometimes he will even

encourage the young man to continue by ex-

pressing his deep regrets that the time for

such follies is passed by for him.

Well! Some one must have the courageto say it. These old saws and long-estab-

lished sayings do more harm to a young manthan can possibly be exprest, for they keephim from reflecting and from seeing the

truth. And as in all European countries, as

well as in America, when a boy leaves school

or college he is thrown into the life of some

large town without any real supervision or

moral guidance, and as he has never been

warned against this fatal atmosphere of

[174]


foolish prejudice which every student must

breathe, his inconsequential and disastrous

line of conduct is explained. These bands of

rollicking students are the living embodiment

of all these uncriticized, undigested ideas

with which the minds of "men of education "

are encumbered.

The power of suggestion is so strong that

those who manage to free themselves fromit in advanced life are to be envied. Theweakness of the will aided and abetted bythe force of the lower tendencies strengthensthe temptation for men to use these proverbsas a legitimate excuse for their spoiled

youth and their age ripened years which are

but a continuation of that youth. The errors

accumulated in the course of education,

example, language, and environment, andfavored by one's inclination befog the

mind and distort one's view of things. There

is but one way of dispelling this fog, and that

is frequently to withdraw from the crowd in

meditative solitude, to dwell upon the sug-

gestions of some lofty mind instead of on

the mediocre suggestions of one's surround-

ings, letting the calm of such beneficent in-

[175]


fluence penetrate to the very depth of the

soul. The solitude that is favorable to such

penetration is of easy attainment to the

student. Never again will he find such com-

plete liberty, and it is truly sad that at the

very period when one is entirely independentone is so little master of one's self.

There is nothing finer than that by thus

retreating within ourselves, we can either byourselves or by calling great thoughts to our

aid, gradually dispel our illusions. Instead

of judging things according to the standard

which others have set up we must accustom

ourselves to look at them by themselves

alone;we must, above all, break the habit of

judging our pleasures and impressions bypublic opinion. We shall see how the vulgarwho are content with low pleasures by rea-

son of their incapacity to enjoy those of a

higher nature not only glorify their deceptiveillusions and bestow the most eulogistic

words of the language upon them, but how

they also point the finger of scorn and dis-

dain at all higher pleasures, and how they

stigmatize everything that is worthy of es-

teem. A philosopher who reflects and who

[176]


does not follow the stream is a dreamer, a

little queer or crazy. A man who meditates

is a seeker after ethereal abstractions whois apt to stumble into a ditch while observ-

ing the stars. All the epithets of praise and

all the tripping dactyls are for vice, while

the ponderous spondees are for virtue. Theone is as light and graceful as the other is

austere, rigid, and pedantic. Moliere himself

with all his genius was not able to make us

laugh at vice. Celimene, the heartless co-

quette who has not a trace of kindness or

sincerity in her nature, is not pictured as

ridiculous. It is the honest man whose everyword and gesture indicates the greatest pro-

priety and uprightness ;it is Alceste, who is

chosen to be laughed at, and it is with the

greatest astonishment that pupils of both

sexes learn that Alceste is really a very fine

young man, for the word "virtue" carries

along with it so many suggestions that are

included in it in popular parlance, that it has

come to stand for everything that is commonand ordinary. Max Miiller computed the

number of words used by a cultivated Eng-lishman at three or four thousand, and the

[177]


words employed by the great masters of lit-

erature at fifteen or twenty thousand. It

is in the list of words which are only rarely

used in conversation and which form the dif-

ference between the equipment of a man of

the world and that of a thinker, that one will

find those which express ideas which are

great and lofty and sublime. Unfortunatelythere are summits in the language which have

been raised by thought just as there are peaksin the mountains, and the vulgar may makeshort excursions to those summits altho theydwell in the plains. This is why the natural

tendency of ideas is away from the sublime.

"From our childhood we have heard certain

things spoken of as desirable and others as

ills. Those who have talked with us have

imprest the idea of their point of view upon

us, and we are accustomed to regard ideas in

the same way as they do and to connect the

same emotions and the same passions with

them. " * " One no longer judges them exceptat the value which they have in the opinionof other men. ' '

It is in attentive reflection that the student

iNicole,

' '

Danger des entretiens.' '

[178]


will find the remedy and will learn how to

see things for himself. Let him throw him-

self into life as all the others do; he mustdo it, otherwise he would have no experienceand would not know how to avoid danger.But after he has experienced the life of the

community, he should withdraw into himself

and carefully analyze his impressions : he will

henceforward cease to be deceived concern-

ing the value and grandeur of certain ideas,

and above all on the relations of these things

to himself. He will eliminate all that is of

foreign importation. He will very soon have

drawn his own conclusions concerning the life

of the average student and will sum it up as

follows : viz., that it sacrifices as a rule last-

ing pleasures and calm and lofty joys to

vanity; the vanity of appearing free, of fill-

ing the barrooms with a noisy racket, of

drinking like a sot, of coming home at two

o 'clock in the morning and making night hid-

eous and of making himself notorious in the

company of persons whom he will see to-mor-

row with another set of fellows who are no

less drunk than he.

After the repression of boarding-school

[179]


and the anxious oversight of parents, it is

clear that such conduct strikingly manifests

an outburst of independence. But what goodis it to show it? The real feeling of inde-

pendence itself is the great joy. The rest is

only vanity. Such a riotous life shows a

wholly false appreciation of what real happi-ness is. As for one's vanity it is so easyto satisfy it in an intelligent manner! Howfar the joy of being appreciated by one's pro-

fessors, of passing excellent examinations, of

gratifying the desires of one's parents and

of being considered a great man in one 's ownlittle town, surpasses the empty satisfaction

of the student who gives himself up to pleas-

ure, a satisfaction within reach of the drunken

street porter or most insignificant clerk on

pay-day !

Let the student therefore withdraw into him-

self and critically examine these pleasures,

which are after all nothing but weariness, ex-

haustion and mortification, disguised by an

illusion of vanity. Let him dissect one by one

the prejudices and sophisms that swarmaround intellectual work. Let him open his

eyes wide and examine closely and in minute

[180]


detail any one of his days and the principles

which regulate it. Let him strengthen fur-

ther these reflections by reading well-chosen

books. Let him push aside everything that

does not in some way contribute strength to

his will. He will then discover a new world.

He will no longer be condemned like the pris-

oners chained in Plato 's cavern to see only the

shadow of things. He will see face to face

the pure light of truth. He will thus create

for himself an atmosphere of sound, manlyimpressions; he will be a personality, an in-

telligence possest of self-mastery. He will

not be torn in opposite directions by impulses

coming from any course whatever, whether

from blind tendencies or from the power of

language, or from his comrades or from the

world at large, or from his environment.

It is also true that one may take refuge in

the most profound solitude and live a life

of thought even tho surrounded by the world.

The solitude which we mean consists in re-

fusing admittance to narrow-minded preoccu-

pations and of constraining one's self to wel-

come only such ideas and considerations as

are capable of arousing in the soul the feel-

[181]


ings which we wish to experience. This workdoes not require that we should make a re-

treat to the "Grande-Chartreuse"; and it is,

moreover, perfectly compatible with one's

daily occupations. It is enough if we knowhow to seize the opportunity to retire into

our ' ' inner sanctuary,' ' either while taking a

walk or while in one's own home, and for a

greater or less time each day or each week

to bring the attention to bear upon the mo-

tives which are able to arouse feelings of re-

pulsion or love.

Not only will our young man escape from

the bondage of vulgar suggestions and errors

provoked by passion; not only will his con-

duct be more nobly molded on truth, but he

will escape great dangers. To be master of

one's self implies, as a matter of course, re-

peated conquests by self over the thousand

suggestions of the outside world, but it still

further and more especially implies the dom-

ination of the intelligence over the blind

forces of sensibility. If one watches closely

the conduct of children and of most women,as well as the great majority of men, one is

struck by their tendency to act according to

[182]


their first impulses, and by their very evident

inability to adapt their conduct to any end,

which is ever so little removed from their

immediate vision. One emotion or another

is always uppermost in their minds and

drives them to accomplish such or such an act.

A wave of vanity follows a wave of anger, or

a burst of affection, etc.; and, after counting

out habitual or obligatory actions, the one

thing that remains, especially in society, is

the imperative desire to create a good impres-sion upon people whose criterion is, as a rule

anything but exacting. And as nearly everyone possesses the naive conceit which con-

siders himself as a standard of the best, the

public does not look upon any one as a manof action unless he is one of those busy hus-

tling people who can never stay still in one

place. Any one who chooses to wrap him-

self in solitude to meditate and think incurs

blame. Nevertheless, all the great and last-

ing work of the world has been brought forth

by meditative and thinking men. The fruit-

ful work of humanity has been accomplished

tranquilly, without haste and without fuss, bythese very dreamers of whom we have been

[183]


speaking and who are accused of *

'falling

into ditches while observing the stars." The

others, the noisy blustering fellows, the polit-

ical men and conquerors, those "hustlers''

who have burdened history with their foolish-

ness have only, looking at them through the

perspective of time, played a mediocre role

in the march of humanity. When history, such

as we now understand it, and which is scarce-

ly more than a collection of anecdotes des-

tined to satisfy the rather foolish curiosity of

the lettered public, will have given place to

history written by thinking men and for

thinking men, one will be astonished to see

how little the deeds of the "great agitators

"

have altered the main current of civilization.

The true heroes of history, who are the greatleaders in the sciences, arts, literature, phil-

osophy and industry, will be placed where

they deserve to be, in the first ranks. A poor

philosopher like Ampere who was never able

to make money, and whose vagaries made his

concierge laugh until she wept, has done

more by his discoveries to revolutionize so-

ciety, and even modern war, than a Bismarck

and a Moltke combined. Pasteur and Du-

[184]


claux have accomplished more to forward the

cultivation of earth than fifty ministers of

agriculture put together.

How can you expect the student to with-

stand the general opinion which makes so

much of this mere restlessness which it con-

fuses with productive activity? How can youexpect him not to consider it necessary to

lend himself at least to the illusion of life, and

rush around and make a commotion and to

do rash deeds since that is life according to

the accepted formula ! Many of our troubles

come from this fatal need, a feeling that wemust do something at once. A need that is

stimulated hy the laudatory tone of public

opinion. This restless energy in itself offers

no great problem in solitude, except to knowhow to spend it. But through the tendencyto act without consideration, the student is

at the mercy of external circumstances. Thearrival of a friend during a study-hour, a

public reunion, a celebration, any event what-

soever leads him away. For, as it has been

aptly said, the unforeseen " unhorses " feeble

wills. The only safeguard against such inter-

ruption is offered by meditative reflection;

[185]


the ability to foresee events which are likely

to happen may even make up for a lack of

energy. The student can eliminate the unex-

pected from his life. He can easily forestall

the evenings of dissipation in which he will

probably be invited to join. He knows, for

example, that a certain comrade will be aptto try to take him off either to the restau-

rants or for a walk; he can readily preparehis form of refusal in advance; or if a re-

fusal pure and simple seems unadvisable to

him, he can prepare an excuse and cut his

friend's insistence short.1

But, still again, if

he has not firmly made up his mind before-

hand that he will go to his room and do a

certain definite piece of work, and if he has

i We do not approve at all of Kant 's ultra point of view

on this question. What! I may be permitted to kill a manif I must do so in self-defense, but I am not to be allowed

even an evasion in a similar case of legitimate self-defense

against an inconsiderate acquaintance? It is more than a

right it is a duty to defend one 's work and thought against

such people. The polite excuse is often the only weapon that

one can use to protect one's self without seriously offending

others. The odious and unpardonable excuse is the excuse

which hurts. A truth uttered with the intention of hurting

is quite as bad as a quibble. It is the malicious intention

which makes the deed blameworthy.

[186]


not prepared the formula which will cut

short all possible attempts to entice him to

do nothing, he stands a very great chance of

losing his day. To foresee, from the psycho-

logical point of view, is to conjure up in im-

agination events which may take place. If

this prevision is vivid and distinct, it putsthe mind in a state of semi-tension so that

the reply or action takes place very quickly,

so quickly that between the thought of the

act, or the reply, and their objective realiza-

tion, there is not sufficient time for the con-

sideration of any outside event or the entrea-

ties of one's comrades to come in between.

Events which are hostile to our decision only

give rise to the automatic performance of

actions that conform to the decision.

It is only the weak who find life full of un-

expected problems. To any one who has no

fixt purpose, or who altho his purpose be fixt

does not know how to keep his attention on

it and who is always letting himself be led

away from it, life moves in a haphazard fash-

ion. On the other hand, to him who frequent-

ly stops to get his bearings and to set his

course life has nothing that is unforeseen.

[187]


But this foresight implies that we need to

have a very clear idea of what we ourselves

actually are, and of our natural faults, and

the causes which generally make us waste

time. It implies that we must lay out our

line of conduct in reference to our failings,

and must, as it were, never lose sight of our-

selves.

"We can thus contrive to diminish day by

day the element of risk in our existence. Not

only shall we know without any questionwhat we are going to do and say under some

particular circumstance as, for instance,

breaking with a certain companion, changingone's lodging or restaurant or running awayto the country for a little while; but we can

still further draw up a complete and detailed

plan of battle against all perils from within.

Such a plan is of the greatest importance.If it is carefully prepared, one knows what

one must do when a sexual suggestion steals

into the mind, and will not be driven out.

One knows how to conquer attacks of vague

sentimentality; how to get the better of the

blues and to rise above discouragement. Like

a wise general, one must not only estimate

[188]


the obstacles to be overcome in the strength

of the enemy, in the difficulties of the groundand the failings of one's own troops, but one

must count up one's own chances of success

by taking into consideration the weakness of

the enemy's commander, the advantages of

such a ridge or elevation in the ground, and

of the spirit of his own forces. Then one

can march to the front. The enemies at homeand abroad are known, their tactics and their

weak points are also known, and there is no

doubt of final victory, for one will have fore-

seen everything, even an orderly retreat in

case of temporary defeat.

It is to just such dangers from within and

without, by which the student may be assailed,

that we must devote our attention. We must

study the proper tactics to overcome them.

We shall see how we can utilize external cir-

cumstances and even make the very things

that have brought on a moral relapse coop-

erate in the self-education of the will.

Just so true it is that reflection and intelli-

gence are the surest liberators of the will, so

true it is that in time the powers of light

will triumph over the forces of the senses.

[189]


As we have seen, meditative reflection is

marvelously fertile in results : It gives birth

to strong affective emotions; it transforms

vacillating tendencies into energetic resolu-

tions; it utilizes the influence of the sugges-tions of language and passion; it enables us

to get a clear glimpse of the future, and to

foresee the dangers arising from our ownnature and to avoid the external circum-

stances of our environment, that contribute

to our natural indolence. But are these im-

portant advantages the only benefit which

we may expect from it? No; for in addition

to the direct aid which it brings us, it is rich

in indirect results.

It enables us to evolve from the experienceof each day certain rules which, tho at first

provisional, gradually, as they are tested be-

come definite, and finally acquire the author-

ity and the strength of directing principlesof conduct. These principles are formed bythe slow deposit in the depth of thought of

innumerable detailed observations. This de-

posit can never take place in the minds of

careless or restless people. Such never profit

by the past, and like inattentive pupils, they

[190]


are always making the same mistakes and

solecisms, but here they are mistakes and

solecisms of conduct. On the other hand, to

those who reflect, the past and the presentserve as a perpetual lesson which enables

them not to make avoidable mistakes in the

future. These lessons finally become reduced

to rules, which express our experiences con-

centrated and reduced to their quintessence.

These rules, formulated into maxims, helpto discipline our changing desires and those

natural emotions which tend to urge us in

different directions and to establish our con-

duct upon a definite steadfast basis. This

force, which is inherent in all distinctly

formulated principles, springs from two con-

tributory causes.

First, it is an almost absolute rule in psy-

chology that every idea of an action to be

accomplished, or to be shunned, if it is very

distinct, has, in the absence of hostile affect-

ive states, a power of realization, which is

explained by the fact that there is no great

essential difference between the idea and its

action. When an action is conceived, it is

already begun. The preimagining of an

[191]


action is like its frequent repetition, in that

it produces a semi-tension, which precedes

the final tension in such a way that the pre-

conceived action is rapidly executed. The

ringleader of the inclination has not a

chance to raise his voice. For example, youhave resolved to go to your room and work,but you foresee that a friend, who has

already asked you to go with him to the thea-

ter, will be apt to insist. You prepare your

reply and you hear yourself saying: "I amvery sorry, I can not go with you ;

but some-

thing has come up which makes it absolutely

necessary for me to go home." The veryfirm decided tone in which you will say this,

will cut off all possibility of changing yourown mind, and will also make it impossiblefor your friend to insist any further.

In politics, it is the men of clearly defined

and bold initiative who lead the waveringand the timid and the mere ranters. So, also,

in consciousness it is the clear decided men-

tal state which remains master of the situa-

tion. If you plan out even to the smallest

detail the line of conduct which you oughtto follow, you will foresee as you develop

[192]


your program just where suggestions of

laziness and vanity will come in, and will be

able to nip them in the bud.

Herein lies the first cause of the power of

principles. It is not the only one nor even

the most important. As a matter of fact, the

process of thought is too swift to permit us

to be always dragging a load of images alongafter us. We replace certain groups of spe-

cial thoughts by convenient abbreviations

and signs which we readily understand and

which we call words. We know that if wewish to, we only need to fix our attention on

one of these signs for a moment to have its

particular image rise up before us, just as

hundreds of dried-up rotifers will come to

life if one lets a drop of water fall uponthem. It is just the same with our sentiments.

They are heavy, cumbersome things and

hard for thought to handle; therefore, theyare replaced in current usage by words which

are short, handy signs, which, by association

are always ready to awaken the sentiments

which they represent. Certain words vi-

brate, so to speak, with the emotion which

they signify: such are the words honor, no-

[193]


bility of soul, human dignity, felony, coward-

ice, etc. In just the same way principles are

concise abbreviations, which are all powerfulto awaken the complex sentiments of greateror less strength which they represent in the

ordinary state of consciousness. When medi-

tation has given rise to an emotion either

for or against an idea, it is a good plan to

preserve it, as these emotions disappear very

quickly, in the form of a set phrase or as

a formula which can be recalled in case of

need, and which in a certain fashion sums

up the whole emotion. One of the advantagesof a definite formula is that it may become

firmly fixt in the mind. As it is easily sum-

moned into consciousness it brings alongwith it the associated feelings of which it is

the practical sign. In exchange for the powerwhich it derives from the feelings, it bestows

upon them its own clearness and the ease with

which it can be aroused when it is wanted and

carried about. If we had no such clear rules

in the education of self, we would lose our

general point of view as well as our adroit-

ness in the struggle against our environment

and passions. Without them, it would be like

[194]


fighting in the dark, and the greatest vic-

tories would be incomplete.

Thus, rules of conduct give the will that

decision and spontaneous vigor which assures

its triumph; they become convenient substi-

tutes for the sentiments which we want to

arouse. Here again it is meditation which

calls forth these new and most valuable aids

to our emancipation, since it alone enables

the mind to abstract from our innumerable

experiences those constant coexistences and

sequences on which our science of life is

based; that is to say, our power of fore-

seeing and directing the future.

To sum up, meditative reflection producesoutbursts of affective enthusiasm which are

most valuable when one knows how to use

them. It is, furthermore, the great liberating

power, because it enables us to hold back

that turbulent host of sentiments and pas-

sions and ideas, which are always pushingthemselves without rime or reason into the

light of consciousness. It also enables us to

stop short in the midst of the excitements of

the outside world and find ourselves. This

power of withdrawing from the multitude

[195]


and living within one's self is one of the

greatest happiness, because instead of being

obliged to let ourselves be borne passively

along without ever being able to come back,

we can, at will, return to the happy memories

of existence, dwell on them and live themover again.

In fact, this meditative reflection is nothingmore than the power to be very strongly con-

scious of one's own personality. One expe-riences something of the joy that a strongswimmer feels in struggling against the

waves, sometimes letting them rise up and

pass over him like a caress and again plun-

ging into them and taking them headlong. If

our feeling of power in our victorious strug-

gle against the elements produces such agree-able emotions, what a vital interest we shall

feel in the struggle of the will against the

brute forces of sensibility! It is because

Corneille painted the joys of self-masterythat he occupies such a high place in the

admiration of posterity. If his characters had

had a less easy victory, and if their struggle

against the fatalities of our animal nature

had been more prolonged, his dramas would

[196]


have been much more human;but as he chose

to offer us noble ideals, Corneille has become

not only the first of French dramatic poets,

but the most enlightened and admirable

genius of all time.

[197]

nWHAT MEDITATION MEANS AND HOW TO

MEDITATE

As meditative reflection is such an impor-tant element in the work of enfranchisement,it is important to find out how we ought to

meditate, and to inquire into the nature of

the assistance which we may hope to derive

from our knowledge of the laws of psychol-

ogy and experience.

We must state once again that meditative

reflection enables us to stir up powerful emo-

tions of affection or of hatred in our souls;

it leads us to make resolutions, to form our

conduct along certain lines, and also shows us

how to escape from that double vortex of

thoughts, ideas and conscious states that

spring up within us, and those that are sug-

gested by the outside world.

The broad general rule for profitable re-

flection and meditation is based on our knowl-

edge of the very nature of thought. Wethink with words. As we have already said,

[198]

WHAT MEDITATION MEANS

we have been obliged, in thinking, to get rid

of real images, because they are heavy and

cumbersome, and not easily managed. In

place of them we have substituted short signs

that are easily retained and easily passed on

to others: These signs are our commonwords. A word associated with a thing

has the power of calling up the thing at will,

on condition that the word has entered the

memory after one has had experience with

the thing, or at least that the experience of

the thing has been added to the knowledgeword. Unfortunately, when we are children

we learn the words first (except those which

express elementary states of consciousness,

simple perceptions, etc.). With the great

majority of words which we have learned to

use we have lacked the time or the oppor-

tunity, or possibly the courage to find out

the real meaning which the word conveys.

Our "ears of corn" are very scantily filled,

and often entirely empty. All of us, without

exception, have a great number of such

words in our memory. I, for instance, have

never heard the "barrir" 1 of an elephant;1 The cry, as in pain or rage.

[199]


the word "barrir" conveys nothing to mewhatever. The masses have quantities of

such words. They will often say in order to

end a discussion, that "experience

" has

shown, etc. They are absolutely ignorant of

the necessary conditions under which expe-

rience will be worth anything. And so on,

one after another. If we examine the com-

mon words that we use, we shall be amazed

at the vagueness of many of our thoughts,

and we shall even find that the most intelli-

gent men sometimes talk like parrots, with-

out any real meaning back of the words theyutter.

Well, to meditate is, as it were, to thrash

the straw to get the grain. The most im-

portant rule which we must make for our

guidance is always to replace words by the

thing for which they stand. Not by vague in-

definite pictures of things, but by things seen

in minute detail. We must always try to indi-

vidualize our thought and make it concrete.

If, for example, it is the question of a youngman making up his mind to decide not to

smoke. He must examine all the drawbacks

attendant upon smoking, without omitting

[200]


a single one, from the discoloration of his

teeth to the eighty dollars a year that a single

cigar after each meal would cost. He must

take the trouble to verify Tolstoi's verytrue observation that tobacco dulls the keen-

ness of the mind. He must try some daywhen he feels that his mind is very clear to

follow some subtle philosophic deduction, then

to continue it while he smokes. He will then

find out how hard it is to fix his mind on

what he is reading and to understand it.

Several similar experiences will convince himthat tobacco really does dull the penetratingand discriminating powers of the mind. Hewill remember, on the other hand, that the

pleasure of smoking is one of those purely

physical pleasures, which will disappear, as

so many other pleasures do, only to give

place to a tyrannical habit. He will recall

all the cases that he knows of, where peoplehave suffered from this tyranny. By such

observation and many others the resolution

will gain in force. The same method of see-

ing things in detail must be applied when one

is dwelling upon the satisfaction that work

brings with it.

[201]


It is only by employing the most detailed

analysis that the suggestions of language, the

illusions of passion, and the deceptive in-

fluence of bad advice can be allayed. Themuch reiterated statement that Paris is the

only place where good work can be done will

be challenged in the practical portion of this

book. It is, moreover, just this kind of de-

tailed observation that enables us to acquire

unerring forewarning of the dangers which

are likely to proceed from our passions and

our laziness, as well as the forewarning, not

only of dangers, but of benefits as well,

which will probably come from our environ-

ment, our social relations, our profession, or

our chance opportunities.

In order to be able to meditate to the best

possible advantage, we must avoid distrac-

tion, and concentrate our thoughts on our

idea; then we must consult the books which

deal with the subject of our actual medita-

tion, and read over our notes. By an ener-

getic use of the imagination we can repre-

sent to ourselves very clearly and succinctly

and concretely all the elements of dangerwhich we are likely to run, and all the ad-

[202]


vantages to be derived from such a course of

conduct or from another. It is not enoughto touch upon these rapidly. We must, as it

were, hear and feel and touch. We mustreflect so intensely as to make the thing weare thinking about as really present as if

it actually were so. As really present, did

I say? Much more so, I should have said,

for just as art can render a scene or a land-

scape more logical and more united, and

therefore more realistic than reality, so our

imagination ought to make the object of our

meditation more distinct to us, more logical

and truer than it is in reality, and therefore

more vital and more capable of influen-

cing us.

II

There are certain helpful methods bywhich our reflections are enabled to producetheir effect. The greatest leaders of the

Catholic faith, rich in the experience of their

predecessors, and their own personal obser-

vations which they have unceasingly gath-

ered from the confessional, to whom the

[203]


arousing of powerful emotions in the soul is

not a means, but the supreme end, show us

the great psychological value of even the

most trifling practises. One can not attend

a church ceremony without being filled with

admiration for the unimpeachable thorough-ness which characterizes its every detail. For

example, in a funeral service, every gesture,

every attitude, all the chants, the organ, even

the light from the stained-glass windows,combine in a marvelously logical manner to

weld the grief of the relatives into a relig-

ious exaltation. To those who attend such

ceremonies with sincere faith the emotion

must penetrate into the innermost recesses

of the soul.

But even in church these emotional cere-

monies are the exception, and the spiritualdirectors have recourse to a certain numberof bodily practises which, they advise, be fol-

lowed, and which are sure to arouse emotion.

Without going into the subject of "retreats "

and confining ourselves only to those prac-tises which they recommend in solitude, onecan not but be struck by the number of waysin which they resort to physical actions to

[204]


support moral strength. St. Dominick in-

vented the rosary, thereby quickening medi-

tation by a manual occupation, which almost

partook of the nature of a pastime. St.

Frangois de Salles recommends, especially

as a means of surmounting one's periods of

indifference, that one should have recourse to

external actions and attitudes, which are

likely to suggest thoughts, to reading and to

words spoken aloud. Does not Pascal con-

stantly speak of "falling automatically uponone's knees 1

" Leibnitz himself (Systerna

theologicum), in a passage that is but little

known, says: "I do not share the feeling of

those, who, under the pretext of worshipingin spirit and in truth, would banish from di-

vine worship everything that touches the

senses or excites the imagination, without

taking into consideration our human infirmi-

ties ... we can neither fix our attention

on our spiritual thoughts nor engrave them

on our minds without connecting them with

some external sign: . . . the more ex-

pressive the signs, the more efficacious theyare!"

Thus profiting by experience, when we are

[205]


trying to meditate, and the inspiration will

not come, we should turn to some book or

passage especially adapted to our need; weshould insure our attention by reading the

words aloud. This, as we have seen,1

is a

sure means of bringing our representations

vividly before us, and oblige them to obey us.

We ought even to write out our meditations

taking advantage of the precedence, which

the presentative states have over our repre-

sentations to direct the latter according to

our will. Especially should we use those

presentative states which we have mentioned,which we recommend (words spoken aloud,

writing, etc.). In this way we can drive out

of consciousness the principal obstacles to

reflection, the memory of the pleasures of

the senses and distractions of the imagina-

tion, and substitute for them the line of ideas

which we wish to follow.

As for the most convenient time to carryon such affective meditations, the most ap-

propriate seems to us the last week of vaca-

tion before going back to our course of study.

It is a good plan, in each vacation that is

1 See Book I, Chapter I, Sec. 2.

1206J


to say, three times a year to choose some

pleasant retreat either in the woods or on the

seashore and there call up in review all the

meditations which might be useful to us. This

kind of a "retreat" is exceedingly profita-

ble. It will invigorate the will and bring a

sense of conscious personality to the student.

But, in addition to this, he must, in the

course of the university year, manage to have

many moments for reflection in his intervals

of activity. At night before going to sleep,

or during the night when he awakens, or

while taking a few moments' rest, whatis easier than to renew his good reso-

lutions, and to decide what his occupa-tions and his recreations shall be? What

occupation could be more useful on waking in

the morning, while dressing, or on the way to

his work, than for him to encourage his mind

to "blossom with noble aspirations," and to

lay out his plan of conduct for the day? Such

habits of frequent meditation are very quick-

ly formed. The adoption of them is, more-

over, so rich in good results that young peo-

ple can not be too strongly advised to makethe necessary effort to establish such habits.

[207]

ni

THE ROLE OF ACTION IN THE EDUCATIONOF THE WILL

MEDITATIVE reflection is an indispensableelement in the education of the will, but byitself it is powerless. It gathers the scat-

tered forces of the mind together for united

action and gives enthusiasm and incentive;

but, just as the strongest winds of heaven

pass uselessly by if they meet no sail to swell

and drive forward, so even the most power-ful emotions lie sterile if they do not, each

time that they arise, contribute some of their

energy to our activity, in the same waythat some of the work a student does is regis-

tered in his memory. So is our generativeline registered in our habits of activity.

Nothing is lost in our psychological life;na-

ture is a most scrupulous accountant. Those

actions which appear the most insignificant,

if only they are constantly repeated, will

[208]

THE BOLE OF ACTION

form for us in the course of weeks or months

or years an enormous total which is inscribed

in organic memory in the form of ineradica-

ble habits. Time, which is such a valuable

ally in helping us to obtain our freedom,works with the same tranquil persistency

against us when we do not oblige it to workfor us. It makes use of the dominant law

of psychology which is the law of habit, either

for or against us. Supreme in its power and

sure of its triumph, habit proceeds slowlyforward in its scarcely perceptible march.

One would say that it could appreciate to the

full the tremendous efficacy of slow actions

that are indefinitely repeated. An action

which has once been accomplished, even tho

most laboriously, is less difficult on its

repetition; the third and fourth time the

effort it requires, becomes still less and this

continues to diminish until it disappears alto-

gether. Did I say disappears I An action un-

dertaken at first with compunction gradually

begins to assume the proportions of a neces-

sity, and altho it was frankly disagreeable at

first, it finally reaches the point where its

non - accomplishment becomes distressing.

[209]


This characteristic is a most valuable aid for

us in regard to those actions which we wish

to perform, for it is able promptly to changethe rugged path upon which we hesitated to

enter into a wide and pleasant road. It does

a slight violence to our better feelings before

it leads us whither we have decided to go,

along that road which our laziness at first

prevented us from taking.

This crystallization of our energy into

habits can not be accomplished by meditative

reflection; it requires action. It is hardly

enough to point out merely in a general waythe necessity of action, for the word is aptto be misleading, and too often hides from

sight the very realities which it is meant to

indicate. The activity in which we are in-

terested now, is the activity of the student.

To act, is for the student to accomplish a

great many special actions, for just as there

is no such thing as will, but only voluntary

actions, so in the same way there is no such

thing as action, but only individual acts. Ac-

tion, to the student of philosophy, for exam-

ple, means to get up at seven in the morningand read with the closest attention a chapter

[210]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

of Leibnitz or Descartes; it means to take

notes, etc. Even to read demands a greatnumber of successive efforts of attention.

Action means to go over the notes again, to

learn them by heart, to look up references

and material for an essay, to lay out a gen-eral plan of it, then to make a plan of each

paragraph; it includes meditation, research

and the patient working up of collected ma-

terial.

It is very rare that the chance comes in

life for the accomplishment of a great deed.

Just as an excursion to Mont Blanc resolves

into thousands of footsteps and various ef-

forts, leaping from point to point and cut-

ting notches in the ice, in the same way the

life of a great thinker resolves itself into a

long series of patient efforts. To act means,

therefore, to perform thousands of small ac-

tions. Bossuet, who was a wonderful spirit-

ual guide, preferred those little sacrifices,

which, he said, were " often the most morti-

fying and humiliating"

to" those extraordi-

nary efforts where one attained great heights

in an outburst of enthusiasm, but from which

one fell into the abyss;" the slow but sure

[211]


gain, the simple acts, which often repeated

gradually pass into habits ... a little, he

held, was enough for each day if each day

accomplishes his little.1 In short the brave

man is not he who performs some great act

of courage, but rather he who courageously

performs all the acts of life. That student

who, in spite of his disinclination, makes him-

self get up and look up a word in the diction-

ary, who finishes his work in spite of his

desire to loaf a little, who reads to the end

of a difficult page he is the man of courage.

It is by these thousand apparently insignifi-

cant actions that the will is strengthened,and "all work begins to bear fruit.

" Wemust, therefore, in the absence of great ef-

forts, do hourly some small thing heartily,

and excellently well. Qui spernit modica

paulatim decidet.

The great thing is to escape even in our

smallest actions from the bondage of laziness

and from the distraction of desires and im-

pulses that have nothing to do with our work.

We ought always to be on the lookout for

opportunities to win these little victories.

i See the Bossuet of Lanson.

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THE BOLE OF ACTION

Somebody calls you, perhaps, during yourwork. You have a feeling of rebellion, but

you immediately get up and make yourself

go promptly and cheerfully to look after the

matter that requires your attention. After

the lecture a friend wants you to go off with

him; the weather is beautiful, but you

promptly get back to work. You pass the

library on your way home and are strongly

tempted to go in, but you resolutely cross

over to the other side of the street and walk

rapidly past. 'It is by such self denials that

you gradually acquire the habit of conquer-

ing your inclinations, and of having alwaysand everywhere full control of yourself, . . .

so that even when you take a nap or loungefor a little while, it is because you have made

up your mind to take this rest. Thus it is

that, while even sitting on his bench at school

studying, a child can learn a science that

is of more value to him than Latin or

mathematics; the science of mastering

himself, of struggling against inatten-

tion, against tedious difficulties and weari-

some exercises, such as looking up words in

a dictionary or rules in grammar, and

[213]


against the desire to waste time in day-dreams. And as a comforting result, he finds

that his progress in study is always, no mat-

ter what one may say, in direct proportionto his progress in this work of mastering

self; so true is it that energy of the will is

not only the most valuable acquisition, but

at the same time, the most productive of

happy results.

And why are these little efforts of so much

importance 1 It is because not one of them is

lost: each has its share in the formation of

habit, each makes the acts which follow more

easy. Our actions react on us by leaving be-

hind them the habit of paying attention, the

habit of getting promptly to work, the habit

of taking no more heed of the desires stirring

within us than we do of the flies buzzingaround us.

Further than that, action, as we have al-

ready seen, is most efficacious in sustaining

thought itself. By continually projecting

presentative states of the same nature as our

ideas into consciousness, it strengthens the

attention and brightens it when it burns low.

To write out one's thoughts, to take notes in

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

reading, to make our arguments clear by ex-

pressing them in definite terms, all these, as

we have said, lend the same kind of aid to

thought as do manual experiments in the

laboratory to the investigator, or formulas to

the geometrician.But there is another extremely important

result of action. To act, is to a certain extent

to set forth or proclaim our will. Our actions

publicly enlist us on one side or the other.

All moralists say that it is necessary for

any one, who wants to lead a life that is con-

sistent with his duty, to throw himself, "bold-

ly and from the very start into the right

way, in complete opposition to all habits, and

all internal inclinations. . . . He must

brave everything and tear himself away from

the old self," and, according to the vigorous

expression of Veuillot, he must serve God

"boldly." It is impossible to overestimate

the energy which is given to the feelings and

the will by taking a decided public stand.

Our previous acts are more binding upon us

than we imagine, first, because the desire to

be logical makes an inconsistent life so re-

pelling, that one would prefer to stay as one

[215]


was rather than change even for the better,

and then because we recognize the strong

and perfectly justified human attitude that

would be apt to attribute such inconsistency

in our acts to a weakness of the will, almost

bordering on insanity. That is why it is im-

portant when one breaks away from a life

of indolence to do so with some publicity,

to, as it were, pledge one's honor to one's self

and to others. One's restaurant, apartment,or acquaintances must perhaps be changed.Each word spoken must be a corroboration

of one's determination to do right: every dis-

couraging sophism must be politely but ener-

getically repulsed. One must never let anyone scoff at work to be done, nor praise the

life of the student who is drifting to his de-

struction. To be believed by others to be

what we ourselves wish to be, doubles our

power of self-improvement, because that sat-

isfies that very profound need, which in our

weakness we all feel, of having the approba-tion of others, even of people whom we do not

know at all.

To these various influences of action must

be added the pleasure that lies in action

[216]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

itself, a pleasure so intense that many peoplelive an active life for the sake of the activity,

without purpose and without profit, often to

their great harm. This pleasure has some-

thing intoxicating about it that goes to the

head, which springs perhaps from the fact

that action more than anything else, gives us

a realizing sense of our own existence and

our own strength.

It is therefore absolutely essential to com-

bine action with meditation: indispensable,

because it alone can form firmly established

habits, and, what is more, can transform

those very acts, which were at first most dis-

agreeable to us, into necessities of existence.

It is by action that we fortify ourselves to

struggle against the downward tendencies of

our nature, and to triumph constantly and at

every turn over whatever hinders us in ac

quiring complete mastery of self. Further-

more, in letting our will be known to those

around us, action pledges our honor;it reas-

serts our resolutions and, both of itself and

by calling to its aid the power of opinion,

thereby increasing its power, it brings us

strong and manly joys in recompense.

[217]


nUnfortunately, the time for voluntary ac-

tivity is very short, and a large part of life

is consumed by the physiological and social

necessities of living. Up to five or six yearsof age a child lives an animal life. Its exist-

ence is to sleep and eat and play. It is kept

busy disentangling from chaos the external

impressions which throng into its conscious-

ness, and far from dominating the outside

world, it is stunned by it. Until eighteen

years of age the boy has too much to do, and

too much to study concerning what other peo-

ple have thought, to be able to think for him-

self. It would seem as if when his secondarystudies were finished he ought to belong to

himself and should be able to bring to bear

upon the study of himself and upon the so-

ciety in which he lives, those faculties which

have been sharpened and tempered by yearsof disinterested culture. Unfortunately if he

is pretty well acquainted with the physical

world in which he has grown up, his vision

will suddenly become obscure, a cloud will

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

seem to pass on the one hand between his

faculties of observation and himself, and on

the other hand between his critical spirit and

society. Vague dreams, great outbursts of

enthusiasm without any object, will fill his

mind. It is at this age that a revolution takes

place in the body of the adolescent youth.It is the commencement of puberty. At the

very age where he ought to be able to learn

to master himself, his passions invade his

soul. It is most unfortunate for him, if, as

is the case in the colleges of Europe and

America, he finds himself permitted to have

entire liberty without any one to lean uponor to direct his conscience, and without anychance of piercing the thick atmosphere of

illusions which smother him! The student

feels like one stunned, incapable of finding

his way, and is led by the prejudices which

surround him. What man is there, who has

gone through this experience, who, lookingback to this epoch in life, has not curst the

want of foresight on the part of society

which throws young men on leaving school

or college absolutely alone into a great city

without moral support or without any other

[219]


council than the stupid formulas which are

paraded in order to paint in brilliant colors

what is nothing more than a life of bestial-

ity f It is a strange thing, but there are manyfathers of families who have a sort of preju-

dice against a life of good hard honest workon the part of a student. So great is the

influence of contemporary ideas!

Add to this that in his isolation the youngman does not even know how to work

;he has

never been taught any method of work

adapted to his powers or to the quality of

his mind. Thus the years devoted to higherstudies generally count for nothing in this

work of self-enfranchisement. Nevertheless,

they are the beautiful radiant years of life!

The student lives almost absolutely to him-

self alone. The thousand demands of social

life scarcely weigh upon him at all. Onesees no trace of the harness upon his shoul-

ders;that is to say, of his profession or ca-

reer. He is still free from those cares which

he must assume later on as the head of a

family. His days are his own, wholly his

own! But alas! what good is such free-

dom to him if he is not master of himself?

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

"You have everything under your control

here except yourself,' n one might quote to

him, and the days slip by too often without

profit.

Nevertheless, even with such utter free-

dom the necessities of existence consume a

great deal of time. Kising and dressing, with

a half-hour for one's toilet, the necessary

goings and comings between the lecture halls

and one's room and one's room to the res-

taurant; meals and the necessary time for

digestion before one can do mental work

again, a few visits, a few letters to write, un-

foreseen interruptions, necessary exercise,

the hours that must be counted off in sick-

ness;all this array of imperative necessities

consume, if one adds the eight hours of sleep

necessary to those who work, nearly sixteen

hours a day. The calculation is not hard to

make. Later there will be added to these

demands those of one's career, and then, even

by cutting down to its lowest possible limit

the time devoted to meals and to exercise,

there are very few, who can command five

hours a day wholly to themselves to spendi Beaumarchais, "Le mariage de Figaro.

"

[221]


upon their desired work or in tranquil medi-

tation. Still further, if from our apparentwork we subtract the time that must be spentin looking up references in books, in copyingand writing, and even the time spent in paus-

ing to rest, during which no effort is possi-

ble, we will see how very short the time is

that can be devoted to real mental effort. Anyone who reflects for a moment will waxwroth over those deceptive biographies which

are so discouraging to young people, in

which learned men and great political char-

acters are represented as working fifteen

hours every day!

Happily, as Bossuet has remarked in the

passage already quoted, a little suffices for

each day, if each day accomplishes that lit-

tle. Even at the slowest pace one reaches

the journey 's end if one never stops. The

important thing in intellectual work is not

so much regularity as continuity. It has

been said that genius is only infinite patience.

All great works have been accomplished by

persevering patience. It was by perpetually

thinking about it that Newton discovered uni-

versal gravitation. "It is wonderful what

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THE EOLE OF ACTION

one can do with one's time, when one has

patience to wait and not to hurry,' ' wrote La-

cordaire. Look at nature: A torrent which

devastated the valley of Saint-Gervais

brought with it only a very small quantity of

refuse. On the other hand, the slow action

of the frosts and rain, the scarcely percepti-

ble movement of glaciers, manages in some

way by the grinding of stone on stone to dis-

integrate rocky walls, and to bring an enor-

mous quantity of alluvial deposit down to the

valley every year. A torrent, which carries

gravel along with it, wears every day into

the granite over which it flows, and in the

course of centuries it has hollowed gorges of

great depth in the rock. It is the same waywith the works of man: they advance by the

accumulation of efforts which are so small

when looked at by themselves that they seem

out of all proportion to the work accom-

plished. Gaul, which was formerly covered

with forests and fens, has been cleared and

cultivated, ribbed with roads and canals and

railways, and dotted with villages and towns,

by myriads of muscular efforts which were

insignificant in themselves. Each one of the

[223]


letters which go to make up the gigantic com-

pendium of Saint Thomas Aquinas were

written by Saint Thomas himself, and then

it was necessary for the printers to pick the

letters of the font one by one out of the case

in order to set up the book and print it. It

was by means of this incessantly repeated

labor, lasting for several hours a day for

fifty years, that this vast work was produced.All action, even acts of courage, may appearunder two forms of unequal value. Sometimes

it springs up suddenly with strong bursts of

energy ; sometimes, on the other hand, it takes

the form of steady persevering patient work.

Even in war the qualities of resistance

against fatigue and discouragement are fun-

damental qualities, and it is from them that

from time to time great deeds spring into

being. But every-day work does not afford

any opportunities for such brilliant fireworks.

Sudden outbursts of exaggerated work are

not to be recommended from any point of

view, for they are nearly always followed

by periods of exhaustion and laziness. True

courage consists in long-persevering pa-

tience. The important thing for the student

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

to learn is never to be lazy. Time, as will

readily be perceived, has an incomparable

value, because lost moments can never be re-

covered. It is very important to economize

it. But I am no advocate of rigorous rules

and using one's time according to schedule

where the employment for every hour is laid

out in advance. It is seldom that one can

follow such hours exactly, and our laziness

is so ready to trump up some sort of justifi-

cation that it frequently falls back upon them

as an excuse for doing nothing in hours that

were not appointed for some especial work.

The only hours which one should scrupu-

lously follow are those which are required byrest and exercise. On the other hand, the im-

possibility of forcing oneself to follow

rules in the details of work, accustoms the

will to being overthrown constantly in its

efforts; and the feeling that we always are

and always will be overcome in this struggle

to do things at a set time is very apt to

cause discouragement. It often happens that

one is not in the best condition for work at

a certain hour, but that one is quite ready for

an exercise or a walk at the time set.

[225]


There must, therefore, be a greater allow-

ance of liberty and spontaneity in intellectual

work : the aim to be pursued in the education

of our energy is not to acquire the habit of

strict obedience to the orders of a Prussian

corporal. Far from it the end which the

student has in view is wholly different. It is

to develop activity, to learn to be always and

everywhere active. There are no set hours

for this undertaking because every hour lends

itself to it. To be active means to jumpbravely out of bed in the morning, to dress

briskly and quickly and to set one 's self downto one's work-table without any hanging

back, and without allowing any outside pre-

occupation to penetrate the mind. To be ac-

tive is never to read passively, but to be con-

stantly making efforts. But it is just as

much a part of this activity to get up reso-

lutely and go out for a walk or to visit a

museum, when one feels that one's nervous

force is growing weak and that one's efforts

are ceasing to be productive. For it is the

greatest foolishness to persevere indefinitely

in unprofitable work which only exhausts and

discourages one. One must be ready to take

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THE BOLE OF ACTION

advantage of these moments of relaxation

to visit picture-galleries, or to enjoy the

conversation of intelligent friends. One can

even practise this activity while eating, by

making one's self chew one's food so

thoroughly as to avoid putting extra work

upon the stomach. The greatest misfortune

for the student consists in being seized byattacks of inertia when, through lack of will,

he stupidly squanders his time in shameful

laziness. He takes hours to make his toilet,

he wastes his morning in yawning and list-

lessly glancing through one book after an-

other. He can not make up his mind on either

side, either to do nothing at all or to set to

work. He has no need to go looking for

opportunities to be active, for they go slip-

ping past him every day from the momenthe gets up until the moment he goes to bed.

The most important thing in attaining this

mastery of one's energy, is never to go to

sleep without making up one's mind exactly

what one is going to do the next day. I do

not mean how much should be done, for one

could apply to the system of laying out an

exact measure of work, what we have just

[227]


said about working on schedule time. I amonly speaking of the nature of the work.

When one wakes the following morning, the

mind will instantly grasp the situation and,

without allowing a moment for distraction,

will get right to work on the subject in hand,even while dressing, and the student will find

his body set down at his work-table and his

hand grasping a pen before he has even had

a second to nurse his disinclination.

Furthermore, if while out working or lis-

tening to a lecture a pang of remorse rises

into consciousness, if one feels a touch of

grace in the heart and is aware of a waveof helpful emotion, then one must profit by it

immediately. One must not follow the ex-

ample of those who on Friday make the he-

roic decision that from the following Mondaythey will start to work, no matter what hap-

pens. If they do not apply themselves imme-

diately, their imaginary resolution is only a

deception which they practise upon them-

selves, a helpless passing inclination. AsLeibnitz says, we must follow the good im-

pulses which rise within us "as if the voice

of God were calling us." To waste the effect

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

of these good impulses, to deceive them by de-

ferring their execution until it is too late,

failing to profit immediately by them in crea-

ting good habits and letting our soul taste

the virile joys of work in such a way as to

appreciate their value, is the greatest set-

back that can happen to the education of the

energy.As our object is not to conform to regular

hours, but to act with vigor at all times and

in all places, it is necessary to learn how to

use the quarter hours and the minutes. Listen

to what Darwin's son said of him. 1 "One of

his characteristic traits was his respect for

time. He never for a moment forgot howvaluable a thing it was. He economized everyminute. He never lost even a few momentswhich he had on his hands by imagining that

it was hardly worth while to begin to work.

. . .: He did everything very rapidly and

with a sort of represt ardor. ' ' These minutes

and quarters of an hour, which nearly all of

us foolishly lose because we think it is hardlyworth while to begin a thing, mount up in the

11 1 Life and Letters of Charles Darwin,

' ' Vol. II, Chap.

I, p. 135, et seq. Paris, 1888.

[229]


course of a year to an enormous total. It was

d'Aguesseau, I think, who, as his lunch was

never ready on time, one day presented his

wife with a book as a sort of "hors

d'oeuvre," written during the many quarters

of an hour that he had had to wait. It is so

easy in a spare five or ten minutes to "gird

up" one's spirit by reading a paragraph with

keen interest or by going on with a few more

lines of one's work or by copying a passageor running through the table of contents of

one's notes or lectures.

It is perfectly true to say, that time is

never lacking to those who know how to take

it. How true is the remark that they whohave the most leisure, have the least time to

accomplish what they ought to do, and, conse-

quently, it is just as true that to complainof having no time to work is practically to

acknowledge that one is cowardly and hates

to make the effort !

But if we try to find out why it is that

we lose so much time, we shall see that, in

the majority of cases, our weakness is in

some degree furthered by an indefinite idea

of the task to be accomplished. It is a con-

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

slant experience of mine that if, before I goto sleep, I do not distinctly picture to myself

my work for the next day, my morning will

be useless. It is never enough merely to out-

line it in a general way and to say: "I will

work to-morrow," nor even "to-morrow I

will begin the study of Kant's '

Moral/" but

I must always set a distinct and particular

task and say: "To-morrow I will resolutely

begin at the commencement of the lecture

on ' Practical Beason' by Kant," or "I will

study and make a synopsis of such a chapterin physiology.

" To the precept of fixing

one's self a set task, one must also add that of

always finishing and finishing conscientious-

ly what has been commenced, so that one

will not have to come back to it. Never to

be obliged to do a piece of work over again,

and to do what we have to do in such a man-

ner that it is done accurately, is an extraor-

dinary economy of time. The student should

therefore do all his reading in this thoroughand energetic fashion, he ought to write out a

resume of what he has read and copy such

extracts as he may foresee will be useful to

him, and then immediately classify his notes

[231]


under the title of the table of contents in

such a way that he can find them again whenhe wants to. In this way he will never need

to read a book over again, unless it should

be one of his bedside books. One goes

slowly in this work, but as one only takes a

step in advance after becoming definitely

sure of what lies behind it, one never has to

go back, and, altho the path is slow, one goeson steadily and continuously and, often, like

the tortoise in the fable, gets ahead of the

more agile but less methodical hare. There

is no rule more essential to our mind for

work than this: Age quod agis! Do each

thing in its turn thoroughly and without

haste and without agitation. De Witt, the

Grand Pensionnaire of Holland, directed all

the affairs of the republic yet, nevertheless,

found leisure to go out into society and to

dine with friends. When they asked him howhe was able to find time to finish such a va-

riety of business and still to amuse himself,

he replied:" There is nothing easier: it is

only a question of doing one thing at a time

and of never putting off until to-morrow

what could be done on the same day." Lord

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THE ROLE OF ACTION

Chesterfield recommended his son never to

lose a moment's time even in the bathroom,and he used to cite the example of a manwho always took several pages of an ordi-

nary edition of Horace with him, and then

dispatched them as a sacrifice to Cloaca!

Without pushing the idea of economizingtime quite so far, it is certain that the utili-

zation of every moment toward some one end

is of the greatest value. The kind of activ-

ity that does not know how to apply the law

of only doing one thing at a time, is unregu-lated activity. It has no unity, it flutters

from one thing to another. It is perhapseven worse than laziness, for laziness be-

comes disgusted with itself, while this rest-

less activity by reason of its sterility finally

becomes disgusted with work; it substitutes

for the joy of progress that uneasiness and

boredom and disgust, that always come whenone undertakes a number of things which one

can never manage to finish. Saint Francis

de Sales saw the hand of the Devil in these

perpetual changes. One should not, he said,

try to do several different things at one and

the same time,"because, often the enemy

[233]


tries to induce us to begin several plans, sc

that when we are loaded with too many cares,

we shall accomplish nothing and leave

everything unfinished. . . . Sometimes he

cunningly raises the desire within us to un-

dertake some very excellent thing which he

foresees, that we shall not be able to accom-

plish, in order to keep us from pursuingsome less brilliant thing, which we could

easily have achieved." *

On the other hand, I have often noticed

that it is the things that are begun and not

finished that make us lose the most time.

They leave a sense of discomfort behind

them, analogous to that which the long but

vain search for the solution of a problem

brings to us;one has a discontented feeling ;

the subject of the neglected work avengesitself for our disdain by haunting our

minds and disturbing us in all our other

work: this is because our awakened atten-

tion has not had its legitimate satisfaction.

Work well accomplished leaves a feeling

of contentment in the mind that is, to a

certain extent, like a satisfied appetite; we*"Traite de 1 'amour dc Dieu," "VTII, Chap. IX.

[234]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

feel as tho a burden had been lifted from our

thoughts, and they are free to turn to somenew occupations.

What is true of interrupted work is also

true of work which we ought to do, but which

is left undone. We have, for instance, the

feeling that we must write a letter, but nev-

ertheless we do not write it. The days passand we nurse the thought of our duty like

remorse until it becomes most exasperating,but still we do not write : the obsession finally

becomes so annoying that at last we set to

work. But when it is done in this tardy

fashion, we do not feel the pleasure and re-

lief that usually accompany work.

Therefore let us do each thing at the mo-ment when it should be done, and let us do it

thoroughly.

Ill

When a young man has formed this very

important and productive habit of deciding

things definitely and of doing his work with-

out feverish haste, but in a thorough,

straightforward and honest manner, there is

[235]


no high intellectual destiny to which he maynot aspire. Whether he has new ideas or

whether he sees old questions from a new

point of view, he is going to harbor these

ideas in his thoughts during eight or ten

years of steady work. They will graduallybecome surrounded by hundreds of similes

and comparisons and likenesses hidden to

others, which will become organized and

nourish the original ideas until they have

grown strong and powerful. And just as

great trees spring from acorns, so from such

thoughts, fostered by one 's attention for manyyears, there will be put forth powerful books,

which will be to honest souls in their strug-

gle against evil what clarions sounding the

charge are to soldiers, or else these thoughtswill become concrete and will express them-

selves in a beautiful harmonious life of up-

rightness and generous activity.

We must not deceive ourselves on this

point. If we have had the good fortune to

be able to enter upon the intellectual life, the

aristocracy which education has bestowed

upon us can become as thoroughly odious as

the aristocracy of money, if we do not make

[236]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

our intellectual superiority acceptable by the

superiority of our moral life. All of you

students, who are leaving your college days

behind, and who have become students of law

or science or literature or medicine, oughtto feel it your duty to become the most ac-

tive and persevering benefactors of those

who are forced to win their livelihood in nar-

row circumstances without ever being able to

glance beyond the present hour. The stu-

dents must necessarily form the directing

class in every country, even in the countries

of universal suffrage, for the multitude, in-

capable of directing itself, will always turn

for guidance to those who have trained and

fortified their spirit by years of disinterested

culture. This situation imposes duties on all

young people who have received the benefit

of a higher education; for it is evident that

to know how to lead others, one must first be

able to lead one's self. If one would preach

moderation, unselfishness, and devotion to

others, it must be by force of example, and

one must be able to demonstrate a life of

active, energetic work by one's actions as

well as by work.

[237]


If every year half a dozen students would

go back to their little villages and towns as

physicians or lawyers or professors, with

their minds firmly made up to lose no oppor-

tunity to speak or to live in favor of the

right, determined then to show their colors on

every occasion, no matter how insignificant

it might seem, to let no injustice pass with-

out active and persevering protestation, to

introduce more kindness and true justice and

more tolerance into social relations, there

would be formed in twenty years' time for

the good of the country a new aristocracy

which would be universally respected, and

which would be most conducive to the general

good. Every young man who leaves his uni-

versity and sees nothing in law or medicine,

etc., but the money which these professions

may bring, and who has no thought of any-

thing else but stupid, vulgar amusements, is

a pitiful creature, and fortunately public

sentiment is not so very far astray upon this

point

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THE BOLE OF ACTION

IV

But, the objection may be raised, will not

such continual work and constant preoccupa-tion with one idea, and activity always keyed

up to concert pitch, have a very bad effect on

the health? This objection comes from the

false idea which is popularly held of intel-

lectual work. The continuity, of which wehave spoken, is meant in the human sense.

It is evident that sleep interrupts work and

implies rest. It is also clear, according to

what we have just said, that the great ma-

jority of our waking time is of necessity filled

with distractions that interfere with intel-

lectual work. To work only means to train

our mind not to think of anything else but

the object of our study during the time that

we have nothing else to do. Furthermore,this word work ought not to call up a picture

of a student seated with his shoulders bowedover his task; one can read or meditate or

compose by walking up and down; it is the

best and the least fatiguing method and the

most productive of original work. Walking

[239]


seems to be a very helpful accompaniment to

the assimilation of intellectual material, and

aids one in getting one '& thoughts into shape.In short, to be an intellectual worker, by

no means presupposes as a corollary that one

should be one-sided. To-day, especially, whenwe know so well the relation of the physical

to the moral, we would deserve to be the

laughing-stock of the ignorant, if we did not

know how to take care of our health. The

acquisition of data is the least part of a task;

their choice and their arrangement are verymuch more important, but even that does not

require that one should sit down all day. Asavant is not the man who knows the great-

est number of facts, but he whose mind is

always active and always in working order.

We must not confuse science and erudition.

Erudition too often implies mental laziness.

It is not enough to have a good memory to

be able to create, but it is necessary that the

mind should be able to use materials and not

merely be encumbered by them.

Altho it may be quite the correct thing to

appear to be worn out by reason of one's

work, and altho it may apparently redound

[240]

THE BOLE OF ACTION

to the honor of our will, yet we must recog-nize that we would have the proof that workwas the only cause of our breakdown. Sucha proof is impossible to make. We would have

to take into consideration all the other causes

of fatigue, and every foolish interruption.

And, let us say frankly, that one never knowswhether what one attributes to work may not

come, for instance, from sensuality. I do not

believe that either in college or the universitythe young men who are perfectly straight

often break down;the only overstrain at this

age, alas ! is that which is caused by vicious

habits.

The part that this unfortunate indulgenceof sensuality plays in producing a breakdown

is this: it gives rise to envious and jealous

deceptions, and chiefly, that it causes a sickly

exaggerated sense of self-esteem springingfrom a false idea of our place in the world

and an exaggerated sense of our own per-

sonality. If one is sufficiently energetic to

drive these wearing feelings out of one's

mind, one great source of fatigue will be

thereby eliminated.

It seems to us that well-ordered intellectual

[241]


work we mean, of course, that which respects

the laws of hygiene appropriate to the life

and circumstances of the individual, for this

only can lead to the highest development of

thoughts that such work, freed from the

compromising bonds of sensuality, happy-

hearted, confident work without jealousy or

wounded vanity, is eminently helpful in es-

tablishing health. If one provides the atten-

tion with uplifting and fruitful ideas, thoughtelaborates them and organizes them. If one

allows impressions to furnish these materials

by chance, the fatigue is practically the sameas when the will presides over their choice.

But it is seldom that chance, that enemy of

our peace of mind, does not bring with it a

swarm of contradictory thoughts. In fact,

man lives in society and he needs the esteem

and even the eulogy of others. But as others

have rarely as good an opinion of us as wehave of ourselves, and as, on the other hand,a great many of our fellow men lack tact

and even charity, it frequently happens, in

every walk in life, that social relations are

full of friction. The true worker will gatherfresh courage when he sees how cruelly the

[242]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

lazy pay for their laziness, because there

springs up in their mind, as in an unculti-

vated field, such a host of weeds. They spendtheir time fuming and worrying over petty

ideas, petty disagreements and jealousies

and insignificant ambitions.

Nothing is so good for one's happiness as

to exchange preoccupations for occupations,

and what is true of one's happiness is true

of health. It is so true that work is the

profoundest joy of humanity, that whoever

will not obey this law must renounce with it

all uplifting and lasting joys.

We must add to these observations, that

unmethodical, scattered work is very weary-

ing, and that what often is imputed to the

work itself, comes from work which is merely

badly directed. The thing that wearies one

is the multiplicity of occupations which bringwith them none of the joy of an accomplishedtask. When the mind is drawn in several

different directions, it always has a sense of

dull uneasiness during its work. It is the

undertakings which are left in a rough, un-

finished state that give rise to such weari-

some mental worry. Michelet told M. de Gon-

[243]


court that at about thirty years of age he

suffered terribly from headaches, caused bythe number of things that he had to do, and

that he resolved to read no more books, but

to make them instead.i iFrom that day, when

I arose in the morning," he said, "I knew

exactly what I was going to do, and as mymind was never fixt on more than one object

at a time, I was cured. ' ' 1

Nothing is truer

than the fact that having several different

kinds of work on hand at one and the same

time is to court fatigue. Age quod agis. Let

us do thoroughly whatever we have to do. Not

only is it the best way of getting up quickly, as

we have already seen, but it is the surest wayof avoiding fatigue and of gathering a har-

vest of joy in work that has been brought to

a successful conclusion.

To sum up, altho meditation can arouse

powerful emotions in the mind, it can onlymake use of them under the form of habits.

Therefore, the education of the will is im-i ' Journal de Goncourt, March 12, 1864.

[244]

THE ROLE OF ACTION

possible without the creation of good, strong-

ly established habits, without which weshould always have to be making the same

efforts over again. They alone enable us

to maintain our conquests and to march on

further. We now know that it is by action

alone that we can create such habits.

By action, we mean the courageous per-

formance of every one of those small actions

which lead to a definite end. Action con-

firms thought, and publicly announces which

side we are on; it also produces great pleas-

ure in itself.

Alas! the time of activity, which is al-

ready too short, is still further diminished bythe student's lack of method in his work; in

spite of that, as we have already said, "alittle is enough for each day, if each day ac-

complishes that little." The patient and in-

cessant repetition of effort produces enor-

mous results: therefore, what the student

needs to acquire is this habit of unceasing

activity. In order to accomplish his pur-

pose, he should always lay out his work for

the next day the evening before. He should

take advantage .of every helpful emotion, fin-

[245]


ish all work that lie begins, do only one thingat a time, and be careful not to waste a single

minute. With such habits, he may aspire to

the noblest destiny. They will, at the same

time, put him in a position to pay back to

society the debt of thanks for the many bene-

fits which he has received from her and for

which he owes her recognition.

Work conceived and undertaken in this

spirit can never lead to a breakdown; the

fatigue, which is usually attributed to work,is nearly always caused by excesses of sen-

suality, by restless excitement, by egotistical

emotions or by bad methods; and if it be

true that to be calm and thankful and happyhelps to keep one well, such well-conceived

work and the habit of noble and uplifted

thought can not but be beneficial to the

health.

[246]

IV

BODILY HYGIENE CONSIDERED FROM THEPOINT OF VIEW OF THE STUDENT'S EDU-

CATION OF HIS WILL

UNTIL now we have studied the psychologi-

cal side of our subject. We must now ex-

amine the physiological conditions of self-

mastery. The will and its highest form of

expression, the attention, can not be disas-

sociated from a nervous system. If the nerve

centers become rapidly exhausted, or if, whenonce exhausted, they recover their vigor ex-

tremely slowly, no effort or perseverance is

possible. Bodily weakness is accompanied

by a weak will and feeble, wandering atten-

tion.

In every kind of activity success dependsmore upon indefatigable energy than upon

any other cause; the first condition of all

success in the conquest of self, is, to quotea celebrated expression, to be "a healthy

animal." Nearly all moral enthusiasm co-

[247]


exists with those thrilling moments when the

body, like a well-tuned instrument, plays its

part without false notes and without obtrud-

ing itself upon the inner consciousness. In

these moments of abandoned vigor, our will

is strong within us, and we can hold our at-

tention upon anything for a long time. Onthe other hand, when we are weak or ex-

hausted, we are painfully conscious of the

chains which link our spirit to our body, and

our will is often defeated by reason of dis-

turbances of a physiological nature. We re-

member that the natural recompense of all

work, which expends our forces without ex-

hausting them, is a feeling of well-being and

enjoyment, which lasts for a considerable

time. If we are exhausted before we have

finished our work, this pleasant feeling of

power to do things does not come, but is

replaced by a disagreeable sensation of

fatigue and disgust ;to those unfortunate

people who have, for some reason, become

debilitated, work deprived of this keenest joy,

which is its natural reward, becomes a task, a

toil and a torment.

Furthermore, all psychologists agree upon

[248]

BODILY HYGIENE

the importance of good physiological condi-

tions for the memory; when an active circu-

lation sends pure, well-nourished blood flow-

ing through the brain, memories and conse-

quently habits, are promptly engraven and

last for a long time.

But the power of paying sustained and

close attention, which is such a help to mem-

ory, is not the only reward which health

brings. It has still further a very great in-

fluence upon one's happiness. It is, as wehave said, like the figure which, placed be-

fore the zeros of life, give them their value.

The metaphor is a happy one. Voltaire once

said of Harlay, who had a charming wife and

every favor of fortune: "He has nothing, if

he cannot digest."

Unfortunately, intellectual work, if it is

not properly undertaken, can be very harm-

ful. If it cuts off all bodily activity, and im-

poses a sedentary life and seclusion in badlyaired rooms, especially if it requires a sitting

posture, all these serious drawbacks, to which

is often added that of an unhygienic diet,

soon begin to have a bad effect upon the

stomach; digestion becomes difficult, and as

[249]


the stomach is surrounded by a close network

of nerves, the reaction of the disturbance of

this organ upon the nervous system is con-

siderable. After a meal the head becomes

congested, the feet are apt to grow cold

easily, there is a feeling of torpor and som-

nolence, which soon gives place to nervous

irritability, which is in striking contrast to

the comfort of peasants and workmen after

their dinner. This nervous condition grad-

ually gets worse, and many brain workers

finally get to the point where they can no

longer control their impressions. Their

hearts palpitate at the slightest opposition,

and there is a feeling of pressure in the

stomach. This is the first stage of neuras-

thenia, for neurasthenia nearly always has

some defective condition of the functions of

nutrition as its point of departure. The brain

ceases to be the chief regulator, and instead

of the calm and vigorous impulses of a

healthy life, one feels the irritability and de-

pression of ill health.

However, the omnipotence which time

grants us in the work of imastering our-

selves is also bestowed upon us for the

[250]

BODILY HYGIENE

purpose of changing our temperament and

fortifying our health. Huxley, in a cele-

brated passage, compares us to chess-players.

We have as a partner a patient and pitiless

adversary, who takes advantage of our

slightest mistake, but who generously re-

wards the good players. This adversary is

Nature, and wo be to him who does not

know the rules of the game. In studyingthese rules, which are the laws discovered bythe wise, and above all, in applying them, one

is sure of winning high stakes which means

good health. But it is the same with this con-

quest of health as it is in the conquest of our

liberty: it is not the result of a fiat, but

rather of innumerable little actions, which

one performs a hundred times a month or

which one wilfully neglects. One must bringone's attention to bear on a great many dif-

ferent points and learn to put the propervalue upon each detail. One must watch the

weather to see if it is warm or cold or damp.One must take care that the atmosphere is

pure, one must see that one works in a good

light, and must look out for the quality of

one's meals, and must remember to take suffi-

[251]


cient exercise.' '

But,' '

it may be argued,' ' so

much fuss about one's self would makelife ridiculous and would take all one's time."

Pure sophism! Such care of one's body be-

comes a matter of habit. It takes no moretime to eat carefully and obey the rules of

digestion, than it does to eat poor food care-

lessly. It requires no more time to take a

little walk for one's digestion than it does

to accomplish that function badly by lying

at ease upon the sofa or lingering lazily to

read the papers at the club. There is no

appreciable time lost in occasionally chang-

ing the air in one's study. It is enough to

settle once for all upon such modifications

as one may require in his regime of life. The

only thing that could possibly prevent one

from acting in a sensible way, is laziness,

that intellectual laziness that will not look

ahead, and the physical laziness that will not

carry out a plan.

Here again the recompense will be health,

that is to say, the condition of all the rest, of

success as well as of happiness.The functions to which we should pay the

closest attention are the functions of nutri-

[252]

BODILY HYGIENE

tion. It it a very important question to

know the nature and the amount of food

which one should eat daily. Before the works

of Berthelot appeared, the subject of alimen-

tation was treated empirically. To-day, the

problem presents itself in a very distinct

form. One actually knows that none of the

fats or carbohydrates take the place of al-

bumin in building up the tissues. Albuminis therefore necessary to alimentation. Buton the other hand, if instead of merely sup-

plying a sufficient quantity of albumin, one

gives more than is necessary, a curious re-

sult is obtained. The excess allowance

causes, to the detriment of our organs, a pre-

cipitation of albumin that is much greaterthan the amount of albumin taken in.

1 If one

eats about seventy-five grams of nitrogenousfood every day, that is enough. All that is

taken in above this weight, instead of being

assimilated, tends to cause a precipitation of

albumin of the muscles. Here, then, is the

first thing to remember: the student eats in

his restaurants two or three times as muchmeat as it is necessary for him to eat.

i Compare G. See," Formulaire alimentaire,

' ' 1893.

[253]


Further, whatever may be the amount of

albumin ingested, if we do not at the same

time take in fats or carbohydrates, the albu-

min will be precipitated; but the precipita-

tion stops if the contrary is the case. Hence

these food elements, when they are combined

with the seventy-five grams1of albumin, are

called "a balanced nitrogenous ration. "

Work is the prime cause of the decompo-sition of the fats and starches. We knowthat a man must expend daily from 2,800 to

3,400 calories if he works hard.2

Seventy-five

grams of albumin give 307 calories, and con-

sidering 300 calories as the highest average,

the intellectual worker must find about 2,700

calories. As he can scarcely assimilate more

than 200-250 grams of fats (225 x 9.3 = 2,092

calories), he must therefore get about 600

calories from carbohydrate foods (about 150

grams). One only needs to look up in the

special books written on the subject the value

of each food in albumin, fats and carbohy-

drates in order to choose his food for the day.

1 1 gram=15 grains 100 grams about 3 oz.

2 1 gram albumin gives 4.1 calories. 1 gram fat gives

9.3 calories. 1 gram carbohydrate gives 4.1 calories.

[254]

BODILY HYGIENE

The conclusion which is forced upon us

from experience is that we eat too much, es-

pecially of meat. We require the stomach

and the intestines to perform a ridiculous

amount of work. In the majority of peoplein comfortable circumstances, the greater

part of the force acquired by the labor of

digestion is used to digest. Do not imaginethat we have exaggerated this. During the

act of digestion we would, as a matter of

fact, digest the walls of the stomach and the

intestines if their surfaces did not constantly

renew the tissue which protects them, and

which is very rapidly formed anew as fast

as the digestive secretions attack them. This

work alone is enormous. The intestines are

seven or eight times as long as the body, and

average thirty centimeters around. The

working surface of the intestines and the

stomach is therefore at least five meters

square. Add to the considerable labor of

this incessant renewal for several hours each

day of the papillae which line such a surface,

the force used in chewing, the force required

by the peristaltic movements of the stomach,

by the formation of a considerable quantity

[255]


of saliva, by the production of the digestive

secretions of the stomach and pancreas and

gall-bladder, and one will begin to get an

idea of the prodigious expenditure of force

which the act of digestion necessitates.

It is therefore very clear that men who eat

too much are reduced to playing the not veryhonorable role of slaves to their digestive

tract. Eemember, also, that the majorityfind it too much trouble to chew such a quan-

tity of food thoroughly, and that they there-

by still further increase and prolong the

labor of digestion, for the digestive secretions

penetrate very slowly through masses which

are not thoroughly masticated.

How useful a little pamphlet would be

showing what proportion of albuminous,

fatty or assimilable carbohydrate elements

are to be found in each food! Certain spe-

cialized articles give the proportion in nutri-

tious elements; therefore, we know to-day

that many of the nitrogenous compounds are

not, properly speaking, foods that will repairthe tissues. With such a table, the student

could prepare his menu with the double idea

of obtaining good nourishment and of avoid-

[256]

BODILY HYGIENE

ing the imposition of any extra work uponhis digestive organs which would be detri-

mental to his intellectual work.

The question of the number of meals and

the time at which they should be taken seems

to be of small importance beside this of the

proportion of food elements. Not that we

expect the student to weigh every dish as

Cornaro did, but, after weighing several, he

would begin to get a little better idea of what

he ought to eat, and he would at least avoid

the enormous waste of force which is ex-

pended by the young man who frequents the

restaurants, and who, surrounded by noise

and conversation and discussions, eats to the

very limit of his capacity.1

iWe can not leave this subject without speaking of the

use of coffee. It ought by no means to be proscribed. Taken

in a large quantity and prepared by the filtration method,which draws out all its strength, it is enervating. Prepared

according to the custom of the Arabs, that is infused, and

taken in small cups, it is less irritating, and furnishes a

useful aid to the work of digestion. Even between meals,

as, for instance, in the morning, a small quantity will dissi-

pate that dulness of thought of which so many workers

complain, and will stimulate the intellect to quicker work.

On the condition that the use of coffee is not abused, and

that, on the other hand, one takes advantage of its excita-

tion to get to work, there is no harm in using it.

[257]


The hygiene of respiration is more simple.It hardly seems necessary to state that one

should breathe pure air;but how many times

have I seen young men prefer to breathe close,

vitiated air, rather than let in a little cold

along with the fresh air. The hygiene of build-

ings devoted to education and of students'

dwellings is still in a very primitive state in

regard to this matter. It has, however, been

demonstrated that bad air makes one rest-

less, irritable, and discontented. The or-

ganism, not having the healthy stimulation

whicl; pure air gives it, is tempted to seek

vicious stimulations. The student is not ob-

liged to breathe the same air over and over

again in his room, he can air it often or,

what is still better, he can work in the openair or, still further, he can walk up anddown in his room and read or speak out loud.

Deaf mutes, who never have the exercise of

speaking, have very weak lungs. They are

hardly able to blow out a candle placed a fewcentimeters from their mouth. Speech is anactive exercise for the lungs.

We must also call attention to the fact

that a stooping attitude while writing or read-

[258]

BODILY HYGIENE

ing is very restricting to the respiratory

movements, and that it may, in the long run,

become very harmful. As a means of strug-

gling against this cause of weakness, it is a

good plan to form the habit of sitting upvery straight and throwing out the chest, so

as to allow perfect freedom to the respiratorymovements.

Nevertheless, these precautions are not

enough, and it is very important to stop work

frequently and to get up and go though a

few of those excellent exercises which M. La-

grange has called "respiratory gymnastics."

These exercises consist of drawing in deepbreaths like those which we instinctively makein the morning when we stretch ourselves.

The two arms are raised very slowly and then

held outstretched, while the breath is drawnin as deeply as possible, when they are low-

ered while the breath is slowly expelled. In

the same way it is useful, while lifting the

arms, to raise one's self on tiptoe, as if try-

ing to make one's self taller. This operationtends to straighten any curvatures in the spi-

nal column, while at the same time it per-

mits the ribs to stretch apart and describe a

[259]


much longer arc of the circle than they usu-

ally make. Furthermore, this exercise pre-

vents ankylosis of the ribs. It, as it were,

"shakes out" or unfolds a great many col-

lapsed pulmonary vesicles, to which oxygendoes not penetrate. The surface which ef-

fects an exchange between the blood and the

air is increased. Marey has observed that

the rhythm of respiration remains modified

even in repose after such exercises. We must

point out that the use of dumb-bells for this

purpose is contra-indicated, because no effort

is possible without some arrest of respira-

tion.

These precautions, altho they are very

good, are, nevertheless, only palliative, and

can never take the place of real exercise.

It is evident that exercise does not of itself

create anything, but it acts indirectly by im-

proving the general tone of all the functions

of nutrition.

Altho the respiratory capacity, as we have

just seen, may be increased by exercises in

one's room, to which one can have recourse

from time to time, yet these exercises will not

make the blood circulate more rapidly nor

[260]

BODILY HYGIENE

pass more frequently through the lungs. The

respiratory function and the circulatory

function are in some ways the same function,

seen from two points of view. All activity

on the part of one acts upon the other. La-

voisier, in a communication to the Academyof Sciences (1789), called attention to the

fact, that a man fasting, after muscular work,assimilated nearly three times as much oxy-

gen as following a rest. Consequently, the

first effect of exercise is to enable a consid-

erable quantity of oxygen to penetrate the

body. While the student, who is naturally

sedentary, lives a less vital sort of life, he

who exercises a greal deal in the open air

approaches his work with richer blood and

more active respiration. The brain is ca-

pable of more energetic and more prolongedwork. The work of the heart itself is dimin-

ished by its slower beat, for, while sitting

still tends to make the blood flow sluggishly

in the capillaries, such sluggishness is ac-

companied by a retardation of vital combus-

tion;but with exercise, by a mutual reaction,

the circulation is stimulated in the capillaries

by the activity of the muscles and the per-

[261]


ipheral heart, and reduces by its own workthe work of the central organ.But these are not the only benefits of mus-

cular activity, for the muscles, as Paul Bert

has shown, are oxygen-fixing agents. Theyare, properly speaking, respiratory organs;an extremely important interchange of the

oxygen that is breathed in, and of the car-

bonic acid gas that is to be eliminated, takes

place in them. Therefore, the more energetic

the exchange, the more energetic also is the

combustion of the fats of alimentation. Sit-

ting still because it does not "burn up" the

reserve fats, permits them to be deposited

everywhere, and leads directly to obesity.

These deposits are, however, not the onlyinconveniences of such bodily laziness, for it

seems to be proven true that arthritis, gout,

gravel, and bad breath have for their essen-

tial cause the products of incomplete combus-

tion, due to deficiently energetic respiration.

Further, this very important respiration of

the muscles does not only last during work;the organs preserve a respiratory superac-

tivity for a long time.

It must also be noted, that exercise is ab-

[262]

BODILY HYGIENE

solutely indispensable for the majority of

young people in good circumstances, who, as

a rule, eat too much. Exercise, even violent

exercise, is useful for them to burn the ex-

cess of ingested materials. If one eats a

great deal and leads an inactive life, all the

vessels which receive the chyle become con-

gested. A sense of discomfort and aversion

for food are frequently felt, especially in the

morning, when the night's rest has aggra-vated this state of over-nutrition. The stom-

ach then becomes lazy and the blood is lit-

erally" thickened ;" that is to say, overbur-

dened with materials which must be burnt.

There is a peculiar condition which seems

paradoxical that is often felt on waking: I

mean the lassitude and torpor and mental in-

dolence which comes from the accumulation

of such residues. There is a crucial proofthat this excess is undoubtedly the origin of

such lassitude in the fact that if one has the

courage resolutely to set one's self to work,

it will diminish as soon as fatigue begins to

be felt; that is to say, as soon as the excess

of the accumulated materials in the blood

diminish through oxidation.

[263]


To sum up, exercise provokes an active and

energetic work of assimilation, a quickenedmovement of rich blood, and, on the other

hand, a rapid elimination of the products of

catabolism.

Beyond mentioning its general effect on the

health, it is scarcely necessary to call atten-

tion to the very beneficial effects of walkingon the peristaltic movements of the stomach. 1

II

We have hitherto considered the value of

exercise only from the point of view of the

functions of nutrition. This is the point of

view most essential to our subject, as the will

and the attention are so intimately dependenton the state of our health. Muscular exercise

i As the usual attitude of the student is either in a sit-

ting or standing position, the muscles which surround the

abdominal viscera are generally in a state of relaxation.

Their inactivity leaves them without any defense against

the fatty deposits which increase the size of the abdomen,and still further they are no longer able to hold the stomach

firmly in position, but allow it to dilate. M. Lagrange, in

his admirable book, points out the effect that Swedish gym-nastics have in correcting this state of things.

[264]

BODILY HYGIENE

has, however, other relations which are less

important, but much more intimately con-

nected with the will. In fact, it is by muscu-

lar acts that the will begins to make its first

timid advances in the child. The long ap-

prenticeship necessary for each one of us

before we can learn control of our move-

ments, strengthens our will and disciplines

our attention. Which of us has not been

overcome by the feeling, perhaps is suffering

from it at this very moment during a fit of

utter laziness, that to make any especial

movement, such as to get up or go out, etc ,

would require a very great effort of the will ?

And who, therefore, consequently can denythat muscular activity, or better, quick defi-

nite movements (for walking soon becomes

purely automatic and has no value from this

point of view) are not an excellent discipline

for the will and the attention. This is so

true, that muscular exercise is prescribed for

neuropathic patients, who are incapable of

fixing their attention. An effort implies an

act of will, and the will develops, as do all our

faculties, by repetition. Furthermore, mus-

cular work becomes slightly painful as soon

[265;]


as fatigue appears, and to be able to bear

pain is one of the highest forms of the will.

It is, therefore, evident that exercise is di-

rectly and of itself like a primary school for

the will.

Does this mean that it has no influence

on the intelligence? Not at all! It has a

very real influence. When we are in the

throes of an attack of bodily laziness, our

perceptions are scarcely awake; we obsti-

nately stay at home and wrap ourselves in

our gloomy, dreary feelings. We are bored

and disgusted. Now this very unpleasantstate of existence, of which we have all hadsome experience, only comes when the phy-sical life is low in tone, and when ideas are

hard to arouse in the absence of outside ex-

citement. Such a state contrasts sharplywith the clearness of our ideas and the ex-

ceeding vividness and richness of the impres-sions which come to us when we meditate

while walking in the country. One can not,

therefore, deny the great influence of exer-

cise on our faculties.

[266]

BODILY HYGIENE

III

The student ought, however, to look atten-

tively at the egregious errors which are prev-

alent, concerning this physical exercise whose

benefits we have been extolling. Health and

muscular strength, which are two very dif-

ferent things, are often mistaken one for an-

other. The essential thing in good health is

vigor of the respiratory organs and the di-

gestive apparatus. To be well means to

digest well, to breathe deeply, and to have a

strong, energetic circulation; furthermore, it

includes the ability to stand variations in

temperature without taking cold. But these

qualities of resistance are in no way depend-ent upon muscular strength. A man may be

an athlete in a circus, or able to do the heav-

iest porter work, and yet have very poor

health, while another man who lives in his

study may have an iron constitution with

mediocre muscular power. Not only have weno reason to aspire to athletic strength, but

rather we ought to avoid it; because it can

only be developed by violent exercise and

[267]


such exercises not only interfere with the reg-

ularity of the respiration and cause very dis-

tinct congestion in the veins of the neck and

brow, but they are undoubtedly weakeningand exhausting. For it is impossible to putforth intense physical efforts and at the same

time be capable of energetic mental efforts.

Still further, the exhaustion brought on bythese efforts predisposes the body to chills,

such as are frequent among peasants and

dwellers in the mountains.

To this we must add the fact that violent

exercise is only useful when it is necessaryto burn those nutritive reserves that come

from overeating. Now, the worker who uses

his attention energetically consumes as muchand perhaps more material than the peasantwho tills the earth, so that no student,

worthy of the name, can be compared to the

clerk sitting at his desk and performing the

same task day in and day out, and whose in-

telligence is as lazy as his body. The moreone works intellectually, the less one has need

of excessive muscular exercise, in order to

burn up the excess of unused materials.

It is curious how, in France, we praise the

[268]

BODILY HYGIENE

athletic education which the young people in

England receive, and admire it with that ut-

ter lack of discernment and total absence of

scientific spirit which characterizes most pub-lic opinion. We seem to be dazzled by those

great colleges where the board alone amounts

to $1,000 a year, and by the amateur perfor-

mances of the enormously rich sons of lords

who attend these universities. We do not

perceive that they are in the minority just

as men of sport are in the minority with us.

Intelligent Englishmen look disapprovingly

upon this exaggeration of physical exercise

in English schools. Wilkie Collins, in his

preface to "Husband and Wife," written in

1871, shows an unfortunate development of

coarseness and brutality in English society;

and holds that the abuse of physical exer-

cises has contributed largely to this condi-

tion. Matthew Arnold, whose impartiality

no one would doubt, envies the French sys-

tem of education. What, according to him,characterizes barbarian and Philistine, is

that the first care only for social rank, for

whatever satisfies their vanity, and for

bodily exercise, sport, and noisy pleasures,

[269]


and that the second appreciate nothing but

the excitement and bustle of business, the art

of making money, their own comfort, and

idle gossip. Therefore, according to his pointof view, English education tends to increase

the number of Philistines and barbarians.

He very solemnly states "that purely intel-

lectual workers are as moral as the pure

athlete, but he should have added that in the

Greek gymnasiums where physical exercise

was most highly honored, it was considered

highly dishonorable to indulge the passions.

There is no intellectual worker among us whocan not draw upon his own experience. Weknow that our capital of strength is not di-

vided in two compartments by air-tight par-

titions, the compartment of cerebral forces

and that of physical forces. All that we

spend in excess in violent exercise is lost for

mental work. If an imbecile, incapable of re-

flection, wants to stuff himself with food and

wine, and then spend all the strength that

remains from his digestion in fatiguing ex-

ercises, and if he contemplates his bulgingmuscles with pride, we do not see anythingout of the way, but to propose such a life to

[270]

BODILY HYGIENES

our future physicians and lawyers, our phil-

osophers and our literary men, is nonsense.

The great victories of humanity have never

been gained with the muscles; they have been

won by discoveries, by noble feelings, and

living ideas; and we would exchange the

muscles of 500 day laborers, or rather the

perfectly useless muscles of all sporting men,for the powerful intelligence of a Pasteur, an

Ampere or a Malebranche. Besides, the best

trained men could never win a race against

a horse nor even a dog; and a gorilla would

not have the slightest fear of struggling with

an athletic Hercules. Our superiority, there-

fore, does not lie in the weight of our mus-

cles. As a proof of this, we have the fact

that man has domesticated the most power-ful animals, and that he cages tigers and lions

to delight children who play in the public

parks.

It is very apparent that the role of muscu-

lar strength must diminish day by day be-

cause the intelligence has replaced it byforces which are incomparably more power-

ful, viz. : machines. On the other hand it will

be the fate of men, whose power Hes in their

[271]


muscles, to be themselves treated more and

more like machines. They are the docile in-

struments in the hands of those who think.

An overseer who does not work directs the

workmen, and the overseers are in their turn

directed by an engineer whose hands bear

no traces of work.

To sum up, the movement on foot to makeathletes of our children is absurd. It rests

on this confusion which exists between health

and muscular strength. It tends to make our

young men rough and restless, to the detri-

ment of their intellectual power. Between

the men who excel in debate, and those whoexcel in boxing, our choice does not hesitate

for a moment. Do not let us consider this

tendency to lead us on to develop our animal

strength as a sign of progress. Putting one

excess against the other, I would prefer those

of the old schools which have given us Saint

Thomas Aquinas, Montaigne, and Eabelais to

those of the schools which give us championoarsmen.

Frankly, if the flattery to their foolish

vanity was taken away (foolish, because whatis there to be vain about in possessing su-

[272]

BODILY HYGIENE

perior forces that are inferior to those of

many animals?), how many students would

be willing to undergo the necessary fatigue

to prepare for a rowing contest. We have

come to the conclusion, therefore, that it is

not England with her violent system of ex-

ercise which we ought to imitate in this con-

nection, but rather Sweden who has com-

pletely given up such ruinous physical efforts

for young people in her schools. There the

object is to make young people strong and

healthy, and they have perceived, that exces-

sive physical exercises are more sure to lead

to a breakdown than excessive study. It is

therefore evident from what has gone before,

that in the choice of exercises to be recom-

mended to students, one absolute rule oughtto be observed: these exercises ought not

to be exhausting nor even go to the point of

excessive fatigue.

[273]


JY

If so many errors and so many prejudices

are current concerning physical exercise, the

mistakes which are generally made, concern-

ing intellectual work, are no less serious. It

is always taken for granted that it is seden-

tary work. As we have said, the idea of

intellectual work immediately calls up the

picture of a man sitting with his head in his

hands meditating, or his chest bowed over

a table, writing. We repeat, no idea is more

false; the preliminary work can, it is true,

only be done at one's work-table. In order

to translate, one must have a grammar and

dictionary; when reading, one must concen-

trate the attention and fix certain memories

in the mind by taking notes, and jotting

down on paper the suggestions called forth

by the author.

But once this first part of the work is done,

all the work of memory properly so called,

can not only be accomplished out of doors,

but will gain much from being performed in

the open country or in a park. Furthermore,

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BODILY HYGIENE

the work of memory and meditation and

thinking over the plan for working up one's

material, are all considerably facilitated by

working in the open air. I confess, for myown part, that all the new ideas which have

ever blest me by their appearance, have come

to me during my walks. The Mediterranean,the Alps, or the forests of Loraine form the

background of all my conceptions. And if

it is true, as Herbert Spencer,1 whom no one

could ever suspect of laziness, states, "that

the organization of knowledge is much more

important than its acquisition,' ' and if, as he

said, "two things are necessary for this or-

ganization, time and the spontaneous workof thought,

" I maintain that this organiza-tion is never so vigorous as in the open coun-

try. Quidquid conficio aut cogito, in ambula-

tionis fere tempus conferof The movementof walking, the active circulation of the blood,

the pure, crisp air, which invigorates the body

by its abundant supply of oxygen, gives a

vigor and spontaneity to thought, which it

rarely has in sedentary work. Mill relates in

1 Education. F. Alcan. Paris, p. 294.2Cicero, Ad Quintil, Chap. III.

[275]


his "Memoirs," that he composed a large

part of his Logic, while walking to and fro

between his office and the East Indian Com-

pany. So true it is, that constructive work

may be carried on to a large extent in the

open air and sunlight.

Now that we have discust the subject of

exercise, it remains for us to speak of rest.

Best is not laziness. And still further, lazi-

ness is incompatible with rest. Best, as a

matter of course, implies previous work, and

if not fatigue, at least the need of recupera-tion. No lazy man ever tastes the joys of

well-earned rest, for if, as Pascal has said,

it is a pleasure to be cold when one can warmone's self, then it is a pleasure to work whenone can rest after it. Best that has not been

made necessary by work is nothing but idle-

ness and brings with it intolerable boredomand ennui. As Buskin has said, the most

glorious rest is that of the chamois, crouched

breathless on his granite bed, and not that

of the ox in the stable munching its fodder.

[276]

BODILY HYGIENE

The best of all rest is sleep. When it is

calm and profound, it brings complete resto-

ration of energy. A little while after wa-

king, one feels a sense of well-being and up-

springing energy for the day's work. Un-

fortunately, the question of sleep is one of

those most burdened with false ideas. Withtheir mania for laying down set rules for

everything, and an authority which is all the

more laughable, because their science is noth-

ing but a mass of empirical laws, the

hygienists limit the time required for sleep

to six or seven hours. The only rule admitta-

ble here is a very general one, to have sense

enough not to go to bed too late and to jumpout of bed as soon as one wakes in the

morning.We say not to go to bed too late, because

work that is prolonged until midnight is

wholly to be condemned. It is a fact, that

the temperature of the blood begins to lower

toward four o'clock in the afternoon, and

that the blood has a tendency to become

loaded with the products of catabolism

toward night. Intellectual effort is never

very strong at this hour, and if it seems to

[277]


be in better form than it is in the daytime,I am very much afraid that it is because the

tired mind is too easily contented with the

mediocre quality of the work, which appearsto be so brilliant.

Furthermore, intense mental application at

night is fatal to sleep and causes excitement

which is apt to make one's rest wholly insuf-

ficient. One can work one's self up into a

sort of fever, at the time when everythingshould conduce to sleep ;

but what bad judg-ment that shows ! The brain is merely over-

taxed by mediocre work and the vigor and

freshness of thought for the next day is

spoiled. The most certain result of this ab-

surd perversion of natural laws is increased

irritability. All material work should be

saved for the evening, such as making pencil

notes in books, which one will read through

again, or looking up passages to quote, or

references.

As to work in the early morning, I also dis-

pute its utility.

First of all, it is seldom that one has the

energy to get up every morning at four

o'clock. One must depend upon some other

[278]

BODILY HYGIENE

assistance than that of the ever-feeble will,

when it is the question, as in winter for ex-

ample, of leaving the pleasant warmth of

one's bed for the cold atmosphere of one's

room. Once, in a town in the south of France,I had a room in the house of a baker, whose

boys had orders to get me out of the bed in

the morning, when they left work, and to use" brute force," in spite of my protestations.

For a whole winter I was at my work-table

at five o'clock. From this long experienceI came to the conclusion, that in spite of the

long time it took me to get accustomed to it,

I nevertheless could always succeed by perse-

vering. It was not long before my work be-

came good, and everything that I learned I

managed to learn thoroughly, and was a defi-

nite acquisition. But the rest of the day I

was rather stupid and sleepy. And I con-

cluded, in summing it all up, that it was bet-

ter to use the working hours of the day than

to attempt work so early in the morning. The

only advantage of the method is that no dayis lost; each one accomplishes some work,while if the work is put off until a free hour,there is danger, if one's will is weak, of frit-

[279]


tering away the time that should be used in

effort.

It is most important, however, not to spendtoo much time in bed for two reasons. Thefirst is because when one habitually lies in

bed longer than the time necessary for rest,

even tho that varies for each individual, sleep

seems to "thicken the blood," the whole

morning is spoiled, one is dull and indolent

and opprest. One shivers easily and is im-

pressionable. But this is not the most serious

drawback of exaggerated rest; one may layit down as an absolute rule, without excep-

tion, that every student who lies in bed very

late, or who stays there for a long time after

waking, invariably sinks into debilitating

habits. Tell me how long you lie abed in

the morning and I will tell you whether or not

you are morally strong.

[280]

BODILY HYGIENE

VI

Outside of sleep, rest takes the form of

recreation. It is absolutely necessary not to

work on uninterruptedly. The old compari-son of the mind to the bow, which, always

kept stretched, finally loosens its tension, is

a good one. Work without its natural recom-

pense, which is rest, degenerates into drudg-

ery. Even for the assimilation of our acqui-

sitions and for their development and growthin productiveness, it is necessary to allow

some time to pass between the periods of

work. Such rest is again pure and simplyfor the work itself; in fact, intellectual workcan not go on without being accompanied byactive work between nerve centers. Inverse-

ly, active work in the nerve centers is often

found to further our intellectual researches

even if this work is not performed con-

sciously. It is no longer necessary to-day to

defend the suggestive discovery of the corol-

lation of ideas and of a " nervous sub-

stratum." For, when intellectual work

ceases, the activity of the nerve centers does

not immediately come to an end, the uncon-

[281]


scions work continues and, in fact, it is the

fixing and development of memories from

which its profit is derived.

Hence the foolishness of passing without a

pause to a new piece of work. First, one

loses the benefit of this spontaneous work

which goes on in the subconscious regions of

the mind, and, furthermore, it must to a cer-

tain extent go in opposition to the established

blood currents and require them to establish

a new plan. It is like stopping a train that

is going at full speed, first slowing it down,and then switching it on to another track.

It will be much better to let the naturally ac-

quired enthusiasm expend itself naturally, by

taking a little rest and a little exercise, and

waiting until the calm should be reestablished

in the cerebral circulation. In a long expe-

rience in teaching, I have often seen students,

who could hardly keep up with their course,

and who saw no relationship between anyof their subjects, come back absolutely trans-

formed after a fortnight's complete intellec-

tual rest at the Easter vacation. A settling

process had gone on in their thoughts, theyhad finally succeeded in organizing their ma-

[282]

BODILY HYGIENE

terial, and they were complete masters of

their subjects. Without this beneficial rest

from new acquisitions nothing perhaps could

have been accomplished by them.

There has never been enough said about

the necessity of rest for work. How right

Topfferxis

" You must work first, my friend,

and then go out and see some one, take the

air and stroll about, for that is the way to

digest what you have learned and what youhave observed, and to bind science to life in-

stead of only binding it to your memory."But one must not pursue rest as an end

;it

is not and ought not to be considered other

than as a means to reanimate our energy.All the same there are a great many ways

of resting, and the choice of one's distrac-

tions should not be a matter of indifference

to any one who wishes to strengthen his will.

The essential characters of the right kind

of distraction should be to quicken the circu-

lation and the respiratory rhythm, and espe-

cially to provoke a thorough exercise of the

muscles of the thorax and the vertebral col-

umn, and to rest the sight.

i Presbyt&re LI, 50.

[283]


One will see at once that these requisite

conditions will cause us to give up absolutely,

as having all the drawbacks of a sedentary

employment and, furthermore, too often the

drawbacks of a bad atmosphere, such gamesas cards and chess, and in fact all gameswhich are played in such places where the

air would be charged with tobacco smoke and

seldom freshened.

On the other hand, taking walks in the

country and little excursions into the woodsfill the required program to a certain extent.

Unfortunately, these pleasures do not satisfy

all the required conditions, since they do not

affect the muscles of the vertebral column,which control the respiration and those which

surround the stomach. Nevertheless, they fill

the lungs with pure air and rest the eyes

pleasantly. Skating, which is the pleasantest

of all exercises, and one with the greatest

variety of movements, as well as swimmingin summer, which is the most vigorous of

respiratory exercises, have a marvelous

power of refreshing the intellectual worker.

To these may be added rowing, with the

charming landscape along the shores, and

[284]

BODILY HYGIENE

gardening, with the varied movements which

it requires.1

In rainy weather billiards or carpenteringare excellent occupations for the house. In

the garden one can play ten-pins or skittles

or at bowls, all of which are old French

games, which neither croquet nor lawn ten-

nis should supplant. During the holidays,

nothing is of so much value as pleasant little

trips with one's knapsack on one's back, into

the Alps or the Pyrenees, in the Vosges or

in Brittany. One must be careful, however,

during the working months (in vacation this

is no drawback), that when such exercise pro-duces perspiration, one should not push it to

the point of lassitude. Any fatigue is too

much, for, when added to intellectual work,it becomes overstrain.

In addition to the immediate benefits of

these distractions, the joy of healthy exercise

has, like other light-hearted joyful emotions,

1 We do not mention hunting here, as it is often exhaust-

ing and can never become an habitual exercise, nor fencingwhich induces nervous fatigue and is positively contraindi-

cated for all men who work with the brain. See Lagrange,"L 'Exercise chez les Adultes." F. Alean, Paris, p. 299,

et seq.

[285]


a very great hygienic value. It has been said

that joy is the best health-giver ; physical joyis like a chant of triumph of the well-balanced

organism. And when to these animal joys

there is added the keen satisfaction of intel-

lectual work, which is not without its ex-

clusive happiness but which rather gives a

freshness and savor to other pleasures then

happiness is complete. For the young peo-

ple, who are sufficiently masters of them-

selves to regulate their life in this way, life

is truly worth living: and to this companyof the chosen, we may all belong if we knowhow to will it.

VII

To sum up, persevering energy of the will

implies the ability to make long continued

efforts. But without health, no such efforts

are possible. Health is therefore an essen-

tial condition to moral energy.' ' No one may

enter here who is not a geometrist,' ' said

Plato, and no one may enter here, we say em-

phatically, if he does not follow the laws of

hygiene on the point on which they are firmly

[286]

BODILY HYGIENE

established. In the same way that the will is

built up of slight but frequently repeated

efforts, by the foundation of good health is

laid small hygienic precautions; precautions

concerning one's food, fresh air, and circula-

tion of the blood. It presupposes the

thorough understanding of the value of rest

and physical exercises. We have felt it nec-

essary to speak very decidedly against the

prevailing exaggeration of exercise in our

thoughtless imitation of England. We have

even pushed our scruples so far as to

point out which are harmful pleasures and

which are useful, according to the require-

ments we have laid down for profitable

intellectual work, which are, that intelligence,

sensibility, and the will depend very largely

on the state of the body. If a soul, as Bos-

suet has said, is mistress of the body which

she animates, she can not hold her sovereign-

ty long if the body be worn out and weak.

In such condition, we might be able to makean heroic effort, but it would not be possible

to follow it immediately by others, for abso-

lute exhaustion will be the natural conse-

quence of the first. In life, such as civiliza-

[287]


tion has made it for us, the opportunities for

heroic deeds are rare; so rare, that it is not

for such that we prepare ourselves, but rather

for those efforts of reiterated detail which

must be repeated every day and hour. It will

be found, however, that a will that has been

tempered and trained by such perpetual ef-

forts, will be better prepared than another

for brave actions when the hour to accom-

plish such comes. But these repeated efforts

in themselves are constancy and continuity

of purpose, and it follows that when there

is the power to persevere in effort there

will also be a steady development of strength.

One seldom stops to appreciate the wisdomof the ancients on this point, when theyenunciated their famous maxim: Mens sana

in corpore sano. Let us then be very care-

ful to furnish our will with the requirementsof physical energy, without which any effort,

of any nature whatsoever, will shrivel up and

never amount to anything.

[288]

A GENERAL GLANCE

A GENERAL GLANCE

WE have now reached the end of the first

part of our subject.

We first determined the nature of the ene-

mies to combat in this most important and

profitable struggle against our lower powers.We have learned that the passions are not

of much importance in the struggle for the

conquest of self, except as they aid and abet

that arch-enemy, laziness, that force of iner-

tia which tends unceasingly to drag man downto that level from which he has with so much

difficulty climbed through centuries of effort.

We have learned to understand that the term

master of one's self can never be applied to

any one who has an impulsive will. Supremeenergy implies continued energy, prolonged

during months and years, and the touch-

stone of the will is endurance.

Then, we have been obliged to get rid of

two philosophical theories, each of which, to

our way of thinking, was as discouraging as

the other: the one pretends that we can do

[289]


nothing with our character, that it is prede-termined and innate, that we are what we

are, and that we can attempt nothing toward

our own freedom : an absurd theory, and one

which denotes so clearly the habit of thinkingwith words, and such an ignorance of the ele-

mentary facts of psychology, that one would

be astonished to see it upheld by philoso-

phers of distinction, if one did not appreciatethe powerful suggestion which preconceivedtheories exercise upon the mind; a sugges-tion which, in fact, acts upon it as blinders

do on a horse, preventing it from seeing the

most manifest facts.

The other theory, that of free will, is no

less naive nor discouraging, in that it con-

siders the reform of character as the workof an instant, and in that it has certainly

prevented moralists from studying psychol-

ogy. Nothing, however, but the most inti-

mate knowledge of the laws of our nature,

will enable us to find out the ways and means

by which we can reform our characters.

With the road cleared of these two theo-

ries, we enter into the psychological studyof our subject. We have spoken of the great

[290]

A GENERAL GLANCE

power that we have over our ideas, and of

the feeble aid which they can give us directly,

while we have almost no direct power over

our sentiments which are all powerful over

us. But fortunately, with the aid of time

and discerning diplomacy, we can overcome

all the difficulties, and by indirect methods

can win a victory even when defeat seems

certain. We have patiently studied these proc-

esses which give us the mastery of ourselves

in the chapter on meditative reflection and

action, and we have been obliged, by reason

of the very close relations which exist be-

tween the physical and the moral, to examine

in a chapter on hygiene these physiological

conditions which are favorable to develop-

ment of the will.

The purely theoretical part of our workis therefore finished. It now remains for us

to come down to the practical part and to

apply to the life of the student those great

general laws which we have studied so far

only in themselves. In other words, we must

study from a little nearer point of view the

exact dangers which threaten the moral au-

tonomy of the student, and the aids which

[291]

THE EDUCATION OP THE WILL

he can find to protect himself, either within

himself, or without.

We divide this second part, which is a

practical treatise, into two books, Books IVandV.Book IV has two main divisions, the one

devoted to the enemies to combat (pars de-

struens), the other (pars construens) is a

setting forth of the proper meditations,

which will arouse in a young man a strongdesire for a life of action which is whollyunder the control of his will.

Book V passes in review the outside aids

which the student may find for the education

of his will in the society which surrounds

him.

[292]

PRACTICAL SECTION

BOOK IV

PRIVATE MEDITATIONS

[293]

THE ENEMIES TO COMBAT: SENTIMENTALDAY-DREAMS AND SENSUALITY

THE enemies to combat are, as we have

seen, two in number : sensuality and laziness.

Laziness, being the perpetual letting go of

self, constitutes the necessary"medium"

for the development of all vicious germs;

therefore, in a certain sense, all low passions

imply laziness. If we were pushed a little

further, we would not hesitate at all to state,

as the Stoics did, that all base passions are

due to weakness of the will. What is it to

be passionate if it is not to cease to be mas-

ter of one's self? Passion is the animal na-

ture victorious; it is the blind tendencies of

heredity which obscure and oppress our in-

telligence, and still further debase it to their

own ends;it is the suppression of humanity

in us, the lowering of what is both our honor

and our very reason for existence. While

it is raging we retrograde several steps in

the zoological series.

Nevertheless, the passions are less danger-

[295]


ous, on account of their short duration, than

those forces which are permanently harmful,and which we have compared to the force of

gravity. And in the same way that a build-

ing is safe only when the architect has built

the walls with due regard to the law of pres-

sure, so the work of our own regeneration will

be lasting only when we have been able to

neutralize the action of hostile forces by op-

posing them with a victorious array of forces

that are favorable to our end, and when wehave even succeeded in winning some of these

hostile forces to fight for us. But how shall

we be able at the first glance to get some

sort of an idea whether a force is for us or

against us ? Nothing is more simple. Every

psychological force is dangerous to our will

if it encourages our laziness, but helpful if

it acts in the opposite direction.

The work that we must undertake, there-

fore, stands out very distinctly. The first

thing to do is to weaken, or as far as possi-

ble destroy, all the forces which tend to un-

dermine our energy, and to give the greatest

possible vigor to those which tend to

strengthen it.

[296]

DAY-DREAMS AND SENSUALITY

There are many things which tend to

weaken the persevering will. The first in im-

portance is that sentimental day-dreamingwhich so many young people indulge in, and

which insensibly leads the imagination to

take pleasure in voluptuous reveries which

are the most common cause of deplorable per-

sonal habits. Next in order comes the bane-

ful personal influence of companions whohave ceased to make any effort to improve

themselves, the life of the club and restau-

rant and the depression and discouragementof the formidable array of sophisms with

which the lazy seek to excuse their slothful-

ness; sophisms which are so often repeatedthat they get themselves accepted even by

enlightened people, and finally acquire the

authority and weight of axioms, and deadlyaxioms they are !

We shall begin the study of psychologicalfacts which are detrimental to the will by ex-

amining sentimental day-dreams and vague

aspirations.

In the undergraduate courses in college

life the young man, held in restraint by the

rules of Ms house, and occupied by numerous

[297]


obligatory duties, and kept in working order

by his desire to excel, as well as the pressureof examinations, is obliged to lead a strictly

sober and well-regulated life, and has scarce-

ly any time to give himself up to prolonged

day-dreaming, at least not at the present day,

when the hours of study have been shortened,

and those for recreation increased. He can

hardly do now, as alas! nearly all the resi-

dent students used to do, devote the major

part of his study hours in the evening to

building castles in the air, and imaginingscenes of tender passion. But on leaving col-

lege to begin professional studies, where he

is thrown suddenly alone into the midst of

city life, without relatives or any supervi-

sion, without obligatory studies for certain

hours, without even any definite set work,the student finds that the hours which he

fritters away in doing what he pleases, or

yielding to his weaknesses, or in absolute

laziness, are constantly increasing in number.

Unfortunately, at this very period, certain

physiological changes which have been goingon for a long time are now completed. His

development is almost mature. The enor-

[298]


mous effort of the child to classify and solve

the problems of his immediate world is

ended : but numerous forces that have as yet

been put to no use begin to cause him trou-

ble. The awakening of the senses all at once

tinges his thoughts with reflections that theydid not have before. Imagination begins to

work. It is this state of genuine suffering,

which is rendered poetic in literature, that

Beaumarchais has so skilfully depicted, in

his Cherubim. He is not in love with any

particular woman, he is still "in love with

love." At this age we have such power of

transfiguration, such superabounding vigorin life, such need of lavishing our affections

on some object, or devoting ourselves to some

cause, or making some sacrifice, that it is

truly a blessed state.

But alas! it is a critical moment in life.

This ardor must find an outlet. If it is not

directed toward honorable occupations, there

is danger that it will rush impetuously to-

ward low and shameful pleasures. It is at

this time that the Herculean struggle between

vice and virtue begins. Whichever side be

chosen, it will be passionately and vehe-

[299]


mently supported. For the great majority of

young people there is no question about their

choice. They go in the direction in which

they are borne along by their distaste for

study, the example of bad companionship, the

lack of healthful recreations, the weakness

of their wills and their imaginations, which

have already become indecent or corrupt. Ofsuch it is incorrect to say that they have

given up the battle, for they never for a

moment attempted to struggle. It must,

however, be admitted that the delightful ro-

mances which flit through their imaginations,

and the future which they plan to please

their fancy, are infinitely more interesting

than work, and require far less effort. As

soon, therefore, as a study becomes weari-

some the student begins to reason that he

can just as well put his work off till to-mor-

row, which, as a matter of fact, he alwaysdoes. He then lets himself go, and indulges

in day-dreams which absorb the best part of

his time. How many young men there are

who are living in some sort of romance, made

up bit by bit during weeks and weeks, vary-

ing the theme in a hundred different ways,

[300]


imagining their heroine in every possible sit-

uation, even addressing her aloud in words

which they can never make too tender, too

sweet, or too ardent ! Ah, how pale and col-

orless the passions of our novelists are com-

pared with our own romances at eighteen!

Their plots and their characters lack that

richness of affection and disinterested gen-

erosity which is the glory of this privileged

age. It is not until later when our imagina-tion has been crowded out by serious affairs,

and has become cold and inert, that we turn

to the novelist and ask him to take the placeof the poet we once were, but are no more.

The unfortunate thing about these tender ro-

mances is that they are built up in the hours

which ought to be given to work, and too

often young men get into such a habit of day-

dreaming that they find it impossible to do

any serious work. Some word that they read,

some slight suggestion, and it is enough to

carry them far away from their work. Anhour has slipt away before they get hold of

themselves again. And what is more, the

contrast between his dreams and the solitary

life of a lonely student shut up in his room,

[301]


is such that his work, which often seems tire-

some to him, becomes so bitter that he loses

courage altogether. It is so hard to comedown from the enchanted heaven to the pro-saic reality of life ! In every way day-dreamsare harmful. Too many precious hours

which should have been given to work are

consumed in this useless and profitless

fashion !

This squandering of the intelligence andsentiment comes from superficial causes,

chiefly from an unregulated imagination, but

unfortunately it has also more profoundcauses.

One very important cause is the physio-

logical transformation of which we have

spoken. This is the approach of manhood,and also the very wide step that lies between

the physical capacity and the correspondingsocial capacity.

From the end of his preliminary studies, a

young man has to work for eight or ten yearsin order to attain a position which will jus-

tify him in making a "suitable" marriage.In France they admit that a young girl must

"buy" her husband, and few are the young

[302]


men who dare to approach a dowerless mar-

riage and depend on their youth and vigorand courage to attain a competency. Theyprefer to wait and often make a bad bargain :

for, unfortunately, the dowry does not gowithout the bride, and too often money can

not compensate for poor health, extravagant

tastes, inability to manage a home, and for

the annoyances which arise for the wife as

well as for the husband, through the idleness

of the former.

With the present social customs, in France

at least, a student can not marry before

thirty years of age, so that the ten best yearsof life pass either in a painful struggle

against one's physiological needs, or else in

vice. For the men are rare who keep upthe struggle, and the majority of students

dissipate their youth in a low, foolish de-

moralizing life.

It is sad to count up the number of mis-

fortunes caused by this pernicious custom of

late marriages. How much joy, health and

energy is foolishly squandered. For altho

marriage may have its inconveniences and

impose heavy burdens, yet it brings them at

[303]


an age when one is able to bear them easily.

The necessary efforts that must be put forth

to make a living for those that belong to him

are at least not wholly selfish efforts; it is

a healthful and manly discipline for a youngman to work for others. Furthermore, if

marriage without a dowry has its drawbacks,it also has great moral advantages. The hus-

band and the wife feel a mutual responsi-

bility. It is of primary importance for the

wife to give her husband the benefit of her

best intelligence by looking closely after his

health. She does not delegate the prepara-tion of his meals to a careless servant. Thevarious dishes are to her as notes upon the

keyboard which she has studied, and on

which she plays skilfully, knowing the effect

that each will have upon the health of the

one who is everything to her. The husband

for his part feels that he has the care of

other lives. He must guard against the

chance of death by insuring his life. Whenhe goes to his business in the morning he

leaves at home a happy-hearted contented

wife, who is full of health and vigor. Heknows that when he returns he will find an

[304]


affectionate welcome and sympathy for any

disappointments he may have had. He knows

that he will find his house neat and clean

and with that festive air which belongs to

happy homes. There is no more strength-

giving sentiment for a young man than that

which is built up by this association of two

persons of good sense and courage againstmisfortune and disease. As they advance in

life their affection and happiness increase:

the work of the one and the economy of the

other enable them to adorn their home. Each

jewel that is bought, each new piece of fur-

niture is the result of the sacrifice of all

pleasures and joys which are not held in

common; this, without mentioning children,

creates a bond of extraordinary force. In

the homes which have started out modestlythe comforts increase with age, and the cares

diminish, and old age is perfectly happy be-

cause it enjoys security, tranquillity, and

wealth only after having worked a long time

to obtain them. As the poet has truly said:

The only wealth a man enjoys for long without remorse

Is that which he himself has earned which cost him time

and force. 1

i Sully Prudhomme. "Le Bonheur."

[305]


One ought not, then, to hesitate to marry

young, for altho that is possible only by giv-

ing up the idea of a large dowry, in France

at least, yet one will have the advantage of

choosing a woman for her good qualities. It

must also be admitted that the young girls

whom our professional men would marrylater are less and less fitted to marry. Thehot-house education which they have received,

the lack of fresh air and exercise, and their

habit of wearing tight corsets too frequently

renders them unfit to bear the strain of ma-

ternity. Very few have either the courage or

the strength to nurse their children. Physi-cians agree that deficiencies in this direction

are all too frequent.

The absolute indolence in which they spendtheir time after leaving boarding school, the

excellent food which they receive, and the ab-

sence of all fatigue, the excitement of the

evening entertainments to which they are

taken, the opera, the perusal of the sentimen-

tal novels which they are permitted to read,

and which appear in the young ladies' jour-

nals or fashion papers, all combine togetherto make it impossible for their imagination

[306]


not to be perverted. One can have no idea

of how little the indolent society girl knowsof the suffering of the world.

Furthermore, brought up, as it were, on the

outskirts of life and seeing nothing but the

refinements and politeness of social inter-

course, and having, besides, no question but

that the morrow will be provided for, theyknow nothing of the realities of life, and whenthese surge up through their conventional

ideas of propriety, they are terribly disillu-

sioned. They have as a rule less commonsense than the young girls of the families of

the working classes.

But, you will say, young girls of wealth

have at least the advantage of the best edu-

cation. Alas! there are many illusions con-

cerning this. They hardly ever attain real

culture. They can fill their memories full of

a variety of things, but do not expect anyefforts of creative imagination from them. It

is very hard to find any "personality" amongthem, and M. Manuel, the inspector-general,

and for many years president of the Board of

Examiners of Young Women, stated this fact

in several of his reports.

[307]


However true this may be of them, when weFrenchmen marry them, we are so far ahead

of them that they never appear to their hus-

bands, especially if the husband is a thinker

and a worker, as anything more than medi-

ocre students. But even without a superior

education, a wife with good sense, sound judg-ment and keen observation is infinitely more

helpful to a man of talent. He lives, in fact,

and more and more, as time goes on, above

the human plane. He perseveringly keeps uphis pursuit of ideas, and finally loses all

touch with the surrounding world. The wife,

however, lives wholly in the world. She is

able to gather a rich harvest of observations

which the husband, ignoring details, has never

perceived ;she establishes a bond between the

world and him. She sometimes draws in at

a single cast of her net, a miraculous catch

of fishes, precious bits of information, of

which the husband sees the general import.Stuart Mill constantly spoke in extremely

eulogistic terms of Mrs. Taylor; while his

friends, and principally Bain, declared that

she had a very ordinary mind. 1

iBain, Stuart Mill, "A Criticism. '

London, 1882, p. 163.

[308]


They did not understand, that for a thinker

like Mill, wholly wrapt up in abstractions,

Mrs. Taylor, if she was a close observer, and

was discerning in her judgment, must have

furnished him, as Mill declared she did, ma-

terial for some of his greatest theories in eco-

nomics, for in his "Political Economy" Mill

constantly praises the eminently practical

minds of women, and their genius for detail.

This was the great influence of Mrs. Taylor,

and as a like incentive, a woman with the

gift of observation, a little matter of fact,

but discerning, is more precious to the thinker

than a whole harem full of blue stockings.1

But however soon a young man, whose life

is to be spent in intellectual work, is able to

marry, as he can not do so immediately on

leaving school or college, there will still re-

main several years in which he must struggle

1 ' '

Women,' '

says Schopenhauer,' ' are afflicted with in-

tellectual myopia which permits them to see, as if it were

by a sort of intuition, everything that lies close to them,

with the greatest distinctness. . . . While with us, on the

other hand, our glance never stops to rest on the things

under our very eyes, but passes on, seeking for somethingfar beyond. We need to be taught to see things more di-

rectly, and more quickly.' '

[309]


to free himself from the bondage of his

physical cravings. The struggle is wholly an

affair of tactics, ways and means. If it is

not handled properly, defeat is certain.

4

II

We need not be afraid to approach snch an

important subject as sensuality in a book that

is written for young people between the agesof eighteen and twenty-five. Not to speak of

a thing from which the noblest spirits of hu-

manity have suffered would be out-and-out

hypocrisy. Kant has a page on this subject

which is rendered in the French translation

by several lines of dots. These dots speak

eloquently of the attitude of public opinion 011

this question; but when one remembers the

lack of delicacy in the after-dinner stories of

well-bred men over their cigars, it would be

foolish to take this modesty for the genuinehall-marked article when it is only a counter-

feit, and not to dare to say what is plainly

the duty of some man of spirit to say.

It is only too true that the idle day-dreamsof puberty soon pass over into sensuality.

[310]


The indistinct visions become more definite,

vague desires become acts and the student

either gives himself up to secret habits, or

else as the majority of young men do, if theyare a little bolder, or have more money, seeks

the women who professionally sell themselves.

The consequences of this state of things

are, as a rule, so exaggerated that the over-

drawn picture frightens nobody. It is, how-

ever, none the less true that the health is

seriously impaired by such excesses; the

young people who commit them get an oldish

look. They have a feeling of weakness in

the back, muscular debility, and a sensation

of pressure in the spinal cord, slight symp-toms which pass unnoticed in the excitement

of physical animal exuberance. They lose

their color and freshness, their eyes look dull

and heavy, and have dark rings under them.

Their faces have a deprest look. Everythingindicates a fatigue which, if frequently ex-

perienced, soon saps the very springs of life;

it, to a certain extent, prepares the way for

gastralgias, neuralgias, hypertrophy of the

heart and weakness of sight, all of which be-

gin at about thirty years of age to make life

[311]


miserable for those who have not been keen

enough to foresee the consequences of indul-

gence. But the body is not the only thing to

feel the disastrous influence of sensuality, the

memory becomes astonishingly weak, and the

mind loses all its buoyancy and vigor. It

begins to feel dull and to move sluggishly, as

if overcome by torpor. The attention is weakand wandering. The days slip by in apa-thetic indifference, accompanied by a feeling

of listlessness and disheartening laziness.

Above all, there is that loss of virile joy in

work, and it becomes a bore the moment it

lacks its material recompense.

Finally, the habit of physical pleasure sub-

stitutes coarser and more violent emotions

for the gentler but more lasting emotions of

the mind. Their excitement and agitation de-

stroy the joy that is to be found in calmer

pleasures. And as sensual pleasures are

short in duration, and are followed by fatigueand disgust, the character becomes habitually

despondent and morose, with a sense of de-

pression which drives one to find relief in

violent, boisterous, brutal pleasures. It is

a discouragingly vicious circle.

[312]

DAY-DBEAMS AND SENSUALITY

It is not necessary to add to this picture,

which is by no means overdrawn, the social

consequences of debauchery which are so de-

plorable for the women of a society like that

of France, which we may consider is still half

barbarous, as it guarantees young men of

the leisure classes immunity from social os-

tracism even in seduction.

The causes of sensuality are very numer-

ous. We have seen that one of them, how-

ever, is organic. In the same way that the

appeal which the stomach makes to conscious-

ness, takes the form of that discomfort knownas hunger, and as the feeling of suffocation

produced when air can not reach the lungsis the cry of the respiratory organs for re-

lief, so in the same way when the seminal

fluid accumulates, there is a brutal imperiousdemand which, in some inexplicable way, dis-

turbs the regular workings of the mind, so

long as its desire is not satisfied.

However, it is not a case here, as it is with

hunger, of suffering from a lack of anything,

but rather suffering from plethora or excess.

There is a superabundance of energy to be

spent. But in physiology, as in a budget of

[313 ]


expenses, it is possible to make a clean sweepof the surplus by writing the unused funds

under different headings.

There is a system of equivalences in which,

whatever may be the origin of the super-abundant force, the balance will be wiped out

by fatigue of some sort.

If only the desire would remain the samethe struggle against it, and its demands,would be easy. But it acts at times as if

it were whipt up, and stimulated by manycauses, which sometimes transforms the de-

sire into a perfect outburst of furious mad-

ness, which even leads one to commit wild

or criminal deeds.

The first cause of this over-stimulation lies

in our dietary regime. We have already seen

that most of us eat too much. Our food is

both too abundant and too rich;as Tolstoi l

says, we eat like stallions. Look at these

students leaving the table, with red, congested

faces, loud voices and noisy mirth, and tell

me whether you think it will be possible for

them to do any intellectual work while the

difficult process of digestion is going on, andi ' ' Kreutzer Sonata. ' '

[314]


whether the purely animal side of their na-

ture is not in the ascendent.

Add to this cause of stimulation the hours

of sitting still in the lecture-room where the

air is often warm, or in the heavy close at-

mosphere of the cafes. Still further, add to

this the habit of over-sleeping, which is a

certain means of exciting sensuality. Wesay certain, because, in the drowsy indolent

state that follows waking in the morning, the

will seems to melt away, the creature element

in us reigns supreme ;the mind itself is som-

nolent, and tho it may seem to many peopleas tho the thoughts that come to them in

their half-waking hours are very remarkable,

yet they deceive themselves. The critical

sharpness of the mind is dulled, and the most

inane ideas appear strikingly original. Butwhen they come to write down these brilliant

morning thoughts, they will perceive that they

really accomplished nothing, their imaginedmental work was worthless automatism.

In automatism, indeed, and the automaton

in us, is the unleashed animal with its in-

stincts and desires;and its natural tendency,

the object of its existence, is sensual pleasure.

[315]


This is so true that we can lay it down as a

rule without any exception that the youngman who lies in bed from one to several hours

after waking is unquestionably depraved.To these causes of a physical nature must

be added the temptation of environment. The

company of ordinary companions without

character, energy, or moral perception can

not be otherwise than harmful. And unfor-

tunately, it must be admitted that among the

students in any country there must alwaysbe a considerable number of "

ne'er-do-

weels." They incite a spirit of foolish, ex-

travagant emulation in their circle, and the

biggest fools set the pace for the others. In

the restaurants, especially, at the numerous

tables occupied by little cliques, the meals are

noisy, the students grow heated over ridicu-

lous and unprofitable discussions. They come

out from this over-excitement quite ready to

follow any of the indecent suggestions of

their comrades. They hasten off to the beer

saloons, and the orgy begins. After so muchviolent excitement, it takes a long time to re-

turn to quiet work, and the more refined joys

of the spirit. These debauches leave behind

[316]


them something which acts as a bad ferment,

disorganizing those nobler emotions which,

in a young man, are so easily disturbed.

If, however, these were the only causes of

depravity, young men of straightforward,

good, honest natures, could avoid them; but

unfortunately there are other suggestions of

a higher order, and popular sophisms ac-

cepted by everybody which legitimize the

worst excesses.

In the psychological part of this book westudied the relation of the natural tenden-

cies to the intelligence.

In itself blind, the tendency is definitely di-

rected by the intelligence, and from the mo-

ment that it becomes conscious of its direc-

tion and the means by which it shall act, its

power is doubled. On the other hand, the

tendency attracts in some way, and groupsaround it ideas of a like nature

;it lends them

its strength, and in turn derives increased

power from them. It is a close union; even

more than that, it is a solidarity of such a

nature that anything which weakens one of

the parties concerned weakens the other, and

whatever strengthens one strengthens the

[317]


other. This is particularly true of all tend-

encies of a sexual nature. The images con-

jured up along these lines have a very con-

siderable power of realization. They react

with astonishing rapidity upon the repro-

ductive organs. When the feeling is excited,

it completely invades the intelligence and

tends to produce a violent suggestion that

almost becomes an hallucination; inversely no

tendency is more easily awakened by ideas

or mental pictures. The role of the imagina-tion is so great in the passion of love, that no

words could exaggerate it. In an idle mind

especially, one might say that the automatic

part of thought has this kind of desire for

its chief object. And the proof of this is that

love only becomes the dominant business of

people in court life, or "in society," because

worldly people live in the most deplorableidleness. To people who are busy with their

work, it is only what it should be normally.It is also a very great misfortune that in

such a difficult struggle, the student, instead

of being helped and encouraged by the en-

vironment in which he lives, is met on everyhan4 by excitement and stimulation. The

[318]


slightest accident may break the frail helm

of his rudder, and deliver his soul over to

the automatism of passion. The mind of a

young man is like the sea in March, never

calm, and altho it may appear to be so, an

attentive examination will reveal a slow un-

derswell which the slightest wind would trans-

form into mighty billows. It is of the great-

est importance, therefore, to avoid anythingthat would raise even a momentary storm.

But how can one do that when one lives in

the midst of a society and surrounded by a

literature that abounds in excitement. The

very atmosphere that a young man breathes

is enervating. Everything around him seems

to combine to disturb his powers of discern-

ment concerning the pleasures of love. Heis only too well aware of the fact that the

large majority of "well bred" people are

strangers to artistic and intellectual pleas-

ures, and also that they are often incapableof any deep or lasting enjoyment of the

beauties of nature. Sensual pleasures, which

are accessible, not only to man, but to nearlyall the animals, demand no prolonged sacri-

fices, they are easily obtained, and soon the

[319]


more delicate tastes disappear, and one is

incapable of any pleasures save those of a

grosser nature.

The result of this general state of affairs

is that social reunions are often the occasions

of purely sensual excitation under the maskof various pretexts, music, theatricals, etc.

The young man, who, on his return from an

evening entertainment, goes back to his mod-

est student quarters, enters them with imagi-

nation much disturbed. The contrast between

the lights, the dancing, and the suggestive

toilets, and his poor workroom, is deadly to

his peace of mind. There is no more discour-

aging impression for him, for he has not yet

acquired the habit of criticizing these pre-

tended pleasures. It has never penetratedhis mind that, rich as he is in strength and

in illusions, he is incapable of perceiving what

he is. He conjures up a world out of every-

thing he has experienced, and peoples it with

personages whom he moves about at will. His

illusion is so real that it comes between himand the reality which it hides. It is not to be

wondered at if by contrast his calm, tranquil,

free and truly happy life seems to him un-

[3201


bearably lonely and monotonous. It never

occurs to the poor fellow to look within for

comfort. Nothing in his previous education

has forewarned him of these dangers. Quitethe contrary! The literature of the day is

largely a glorification of the sexual act. If

we were to believe many of our novelists, and

many of the most celebrated poets of France,the noblest achievement which is offered to

a human being, is rne satisfaction of an in-

stinct which we have in common with the ani-

mals ! It is no longer our mental powers, or

our actions in which we should take pride, but

rather a physiological necessity.' ' The thing

that Carlyle criticized most strongly in

Thackeray, is that he depicted love after the

French fashion, as extending through our en-

tire existence and constituting its chief in-

terest; while love, on the contrary (or the

passion that is called love), is limited to a

very few years of man's life, and even in this

insignificant fraction of time, it is only one

of the objects in which man is interested,

among a host of others which are infinitely

more important.* ' To tell the truth, the whole

affair of love is such a miserable trifle, that

[321]


in an heroic epoch no one would spare it evena thought, much less speak about it." '

Then Manzoni 2 "I am," says he, "one of

those who hold that we ought not to speakof passionate love in such a way as to incline

the minds of our readers toward it. y v .

Such love is necessary in this world, but

there will always be enough of it, it is reallynot necessary to take the trouble to cultivate

it, for by attempting to cultivate it, one does

nothing more than to provoke it in places

where there is no necessity for it. There are

other sentiments of which morality stands in

need, and which a writer should, according to

his ability, instil more and more deeply into

the soul, such as pity, the love of one's neigh-

bor, gentleness, forgiveness, and the spirit

of sacrifice.' '

These words of Carlyle and Manzoni are

among the most sensible that have ever been

written on this important subject. In addi-

tion to the absurd tendency of literature to

cater to the public, that is to say, rather the

1 Quoted by Mrs. Carlyle.

2Quoted by Bonghi, in ' ' Eevue des Deux Mondes. ' '

July

15, 1893, p. 359.

[322]


literature of the second rank, there are a

great many sophisms in current use, which

disarm the student from the start in his at-

tempts at mastering himself. Physicians are

largely responsible for these sophisms. Theyutter them in that decisive tone, and with that

absolute faith with which many of them

are accustomed to set forth as indubitable

axioms, propositions based upon perfectly

childish arguments.In the first place they quote the example of

the animals, calling upon the entire series to

prove the natural necessity which accompa-nies these physical functions. As if the long

periods of intermittance of the function in

the majority of animals were not against the

argument, and as if on the other hand the

honor of mankind did not consist in this very

thing of knowing how to free one's self from

one's purely animal needs. What, moreover,can be a necessity which so many men have

learned to do without? Has not one a right

to be astonished when one reads in the works

of a celebrated physician, "the passion of

love holds the most important place in life

when one reaches a certain age, when the

[323]


only hope one can entertain is not to descend

the path that leads to old age too quickly,

then one recognizes that all is vanity save

love." Physical love is, of course, under-

stood, for it is the chief subject of discussion

in the chapter. What ! do all intellectual and

artistic joys, the love of nature, the effort to

mitigate the misery of the poor and the out-

casts of society, the love of one's family and

one's neighbor, count for nothing, and would

one exchange all these pleasures for a few

moments' enjoyment of a spasm which one

has in common with the animals?

If Eenan himself had uttered such words,we would have understood it, for this great

stylist never brought his studies to bear on

purely humane interests. His hypocritical

optimism, an external sign of a mind which

after all was mediocre, would have found

nothing repelling in such ideas. But that a

physician who is every day grappling with

the problem of human suffering, and who,

every day, must see men die, should expresssuch an opinion is amazing. But yet again,

if that were the supreme end of human life,

why should senile amours appear so despic-

[324]


able? And what, should we say, would be the

existence of old men, who, by their age, are

put without the pale of humanity, or rather

animality 1 We must frankly admit that such

axioms are low and ignoble, and as they de-

note such a pitiful and false point of view of

life in those who utter them, we are stunned

to meet them in scientific men, who ought to

know how to draw logical deductions.

Let us examine our whole existence and

the existence of others. Is it not evident that

with the great majority of peasants, working

folk, and people who lead a healthy, active

life, who do not eat to the point of indiges-

tion every day, nor spend twelve hours in

bed, passion, as Carlyle exprest it, is mere-

ly an hors-d'oeuvre. Let the idle be what

they are, we know what they are, for the

journals and books that are meant to excite

them are written for them. But how hard is

their punishment ! When they reach the agewhen such satisfactions are denied them, life

becomes tame and loses all its interest. Theypresent the ridiculous and repellent spectacle

of impotent old libertines. What an absurd

statement it would be to say that there is no

[325]


other occupation for an old man than to take

delight in sensual images. Would it not be

a hundred times better to be able to con-

gratulate himself, as Cicero did, upon having

escaped becoming a slave to his passions, and

to devote himself to politics, art, science, and

philosophy?The stupid idea that passion is the whole

of life is often accompanied by monstrous

sophisms. It is said that chastity is detri-

mental to health ! It has, however, never been

noted that in those religious orders where

chastity is the absolute rule, that disease is

more rampant than where prostitution is the

order. If a young man were shut up in a

room without books, or without any possible

occupation, it is perfectly certain that the

sensual suggestions would become irresistible,

and would produce serious disturbances, not

of the health, but of the mind. But to an

active, energetic young man, the suggestionnever becomes incoercible.

Then again, it is possible to go on a whollydifferent tack, and apply one's self to workwhich will quickly get the better of the de-

sire. On the other hand, the problematic

[326]


dangers of continence are as nothing com-

pared to the consequences of excess in the op-

posite direction. When in Paris alone, there

are two hospitals for diseases of this origin,

when every year the number of people at-

tacked with softening of the brain, and loco-

motor ataxia, in consequence of their excesses

is increasing, it is laughable, to say the least,

to find the author of an enormous book on

hygiene, of 1,500 pages, announce that con-

tinence undermines the health!

Is it not evident that venereal excesses are

detrimental, and that on the contrary conti-

nence gives intelligence, vigor, and an abun-

dance of healthy energy to the whole or-

ganism! Moreover, does the method of tri-

umphing over our appetites consist of givingin to them altogether? The very beginnersin psychology themselves, know that the es-

sential characteristics of any appetite is a

sort of insatiability, which grows more and

more exacting, the more one gives in to it.

This is a curious way to check the presump-tion of the enemy, to beat a retreat the mo-

ment he shows his face. But, above all, it is

a proof of the greatest ignorance of self, to

[327]


expect to master the sexual appetites by con-

cessions. To give in here is not to appease,but to stimulate them. The only way to mas-

ter sensuality is to struggle against it with

every means at one's command. But let us

leave these medical theories, they are so

naive and childish that they only furnish

fresh proof of the radical lack in the studies

of logic, psychology, and morals in the course

of the majority of students of medicine.

The desire, therefore, is the thing against

which we must struggle. It is true that vic-

tory is difficult. It is the supreme triumphin the mastery of self. When it is the cus-

tom to sneer at the purity of a young man of

twenty years of age, when debauchery is

looked upon as a proof of virility, is it not

marvelous to think of what a complete re-

versal of things can be effected by language,and by a few cheap formulas? Does not the

possession of the force of all forces, pure

energy the liberated and victorious will

mean that we must retain the mastery in the

struggle against this powerful instinct ? Man-

hood lies here, not elsewhere; it lies in this

mastery of self, and the Church is right in

[328]


considering chastity as the supreme guaran-tee of the energy of the will an energywhich in its turn guarantees for the priest

the possibility of all other sacrifices.

But altho this triumph is possible, it is not

easy. There, as elsewhere, the more the con-

quest is to be desired, the greater must be the

expenditure of effort and persevering skill.

The remedies are as varied as the causes.

It is first necessary to combat the immedi-

ately predisposing causes. One must regu-

late one's sleep most rigorously, not to goto bed until one is tired, and to get up the

moment one awakes. One should avoid a

soft bed, that tempts one to laziness in the

morning. If our will is too feeble to makeus spring out of Bed the moment we awake,then we must have recourse to some personwho has no hesitation in assuming the re-

sponsibility of waking us up in spite of our

protestations.

Furthermore, the student must watch his

diet, and avoid heating dishes, a great quan-

tity of meat and strong wine, with which he

should have nothing to do at his age. The

best thing for him to do would be to choose a,

[329]


lodging at some distance from the lecture-

rooms, a quiet, cheerful room with plenty of

air and sunlight, and often to eat some easily

prepared dish at home. He ought to avoid

sitting still for too long at a time;he should

keep the air in his room fresh, and at a mod-erate temperature. He ought to go out every

evening, while meditating on his work for the

morrow, and walk until he feels tired, then

go straight to bed. These walks he should

take as a regular habit, no matter what the

weather may be, for, as an English humorist

has remarked, the rain always falls muchmore heavily, and the weather is much worse

to him who looks down into the street fromthe windows of his room than for him whois not afraid to go out into it.

For the young men who live on a moderate

diet, and who follow the laws of wise hygiene,

physical excitements of this nature are nei-

ther frequent nor difficult to dismiss; and

the struggle against sensuality will not be

difficult if the stimulation that comes fromthe intellect does not bring any definite

images to the support of the physical sug-

gestion, or draw the attention to dwell on it,

[330]

DAY-DBEAMS AND SENSUALITY

We have now studied at some length the

close relationship existing between the intel-

ligence and the passions. Passion, which in

the nature of things is blind, can do nothingwithout the help of the intelligence, but it

succeeds in winning the intelligence to be its

accomplice. Passion can stir up, and use for

its own end a perfect torrent of ideas, and

their accompanying feelings, to which even

the most seasoned will can offer no resistance.

One must therefore be on guard to preventone's thoughts from lending their assistance.

As a general rule, it is dangerous to try to

struggle against sensuality. The very fact

of turning our attention to it, even for the

purpose of combating it, serves to strengthenit. Courage here means flight. We mustresort to stratagem in our battle. To attack

the enemy from the front is to rush to defeat.

While the most brilliant intellectual con-

quests are achieved by thinking of one sub-

ject all the time, the victory over sensualityis won by not thinking about it at all. Onemust at any cost prevent the union of ideas

with a newly born temptation, and the grad-

ual awakening of sensual images which are

[331]


still lying dormant. One must avoid reading

romances, and, above all, journals or books

which have indecent suggestions. There are

some pages in Diderot's works which producethe same effect as if one had taken a dose of

some violent aphrodisiac. One must avoid

looking at obscene pictures or illustrations

which are even more upsetting to the tran-

quillity of the spirit than written descriptions.

One must avoid the society of lewd compan-ions

;one must foresee the possibility of dan-

ger in trifling details so that one can never

be caught unaware by temptation. At first a

simple thought, as yet wholly powerless,

steals into the mind. If one is on one 's guardat this juncture nothing is easier than to putthe importunate visitor out, but if one be-

gins to form definite mental pictures, and if

one takes pleasure in building them up, and

experiences a feeling of satisfaction in them,it is too late.

This is the reason why mental work is the

sovereign remedy. When the mind is busily

occupied, the timid solicitations of passionare checked in their helpless state, on the

threshold of consciousness. No audience is

[332]


granted to them. They have no chance to

enter, except when the mind is empty. This

is, in fact, all the more true because we hold

that laziness is the mother of vice. The temp-tation gains entrance in moments of reveryor when the mind is unoccupied. When the

attention is brought to bear on it, it becomes

definite and more strong. Memories grad-

ually awaken, and the forces of the animal

nature are ready to become organized the

moment the rational will abdicates, and leaves

the field free to the brute powers.We may also say without fear of making a

mistake, that the idle and lazy are almost

habitually enslaved by their sensuality; not

only because the emptiness of their minds

leaves consciousness open, as it were, to sex-

ual suggestions, but also because a man, es-

pecially a young man, needs pleasure and

stimulating experiences and when he does

not seek such pleasure or stimulation in in-

tellectual work, or in healthy, robust amuse-

ments, it is fatal if he demands still moreintense and violent experiences such as are

furnished by vicious habits or debauchery.This is why it is not enough simply to have

[333]


the mind occupied in order to withstand sex-

ual passion such occupation must carry with

it a feeling of pleasure, and the joy of pro-

ductive work. Desultory or too diversified

work, with the attention distracted by a great

variety of objects, brings no joy, but, on the

contrary, a feeling of irritation and discon-

tent with one's self. Eegular methodical

work alone can bring powerful interest to the

mind, an interest that will continue and last.

It brings the same sort of joy that the moun-tain climber feels when he sees that throughhis own energy the summit which he wishes

to reach becomes nearer every moment. It

alone can fortify the mind with a granite

rampart against the invasion of sexual sug-

gestions. If one combines energetic habits

with such joyous work, and if one learns to

seek the pleasures which we have enumerated

above, the only thing that remains to insure

one's safety is to furnish adequate satisfac-

tion to those vague aspirations which are

awakened at puberty. Nothing is easier at

those happy years which stretch from eight-

een to twenty-five than to become enamored

of nature, of the mountains, the woods, the

[334]


sea, and to love, even to the point of passion,

everything that is noble, fine and inspiring;

the arts, literature, science, history, without

mentioning the new possibilities which are

constantly offering themselves for work alongsocial lines. How well a young man who fol-

lowed such a program would be paid for his

work. His increased vigor, and keener in-

telligence, and his cultivated sympathieswould make his life worthy of envy. Evenhis failures, because of his ability to palliate

their bitterness, will in no way detract fromhis manly dignity, for he will be able to re-

cover himself, and resolutely resume the

struggle. Absolute victory is hardly possible,

but it is counted as victory in this combat

not to be conquered too often, and never to

lose heart.

Ill

The two forms in which sensuality ex-

presses itself in the life of the student must

now be studied at closer range. We have al -

ready stated that the standard of sexual mo-

rality among students is far from high, and

[335]


this comes from the fact that they are often

left alone in a large city without any pr.oper

supervision. Moreover, a great many of

them lose the freshness of their spirits and

dissipate their best energies in vulgar excess.

Nobody warns them;and intoxicated as they

are, with their new freedom, it is a long time

before they can get rid of the illusions on

which they have based their ideas of life.

Nobody has ever made them stop to think

about the nature of their pleasures ;and that

is why it is so long before they begin to sus-

pect the important part that vanity plays in

all their indulgences.

The companions whom they meet in the

restaurants are not in a position to enlighten

them. Many of them have mistresses, and

partly because they are duped themselves,and partly because they want to show off,

they exaggerate the delights of the situation

without ever mentioning the fact that their

joys are often somewhat doubtful, and very

dearly purchased. They are obliged to live

in the company of coarse, stupid women, and

put up with their whims and silliness, their

bad temper, and their extravagances. These

[ 336 ]

BAY-DREAMS AND SENSUALITY

latter in return give them material pleasures,

but no happiness. The majority of students

who keep such women do so out of pure

vanity, merely that they can boast about

them, and be seen walking with them. If it

were not for the "gallery" they could not

stand them for a week. 1

There is an absolute lack of critical per-

ception of values in such cases. On one side

of the scale there is material pleasure and

the satisfaction of vanity ;but over against it

one must put the lost mornings which should

have been given to earnest, happy-hearted

work, but which are replaced by miserable

days of exhaustion, physical ruin and be-

sotted habits. Then to these must be added

the lost opportunities for taking delightful

trips, the debts to be paid later, the regrets

of after years, and the disappointments and

degradation of the present.

There is only one remedy, and that is to

fly the danger, and if it is too late, to break

off resolutely, change one's surroundings,

i See in connection with this a very good chapter byMaxime du Camp in his "Testament literaire

:Le CrSpus-

cule; Propos du Soir," 1893, Chap. II, "La Vanite"! "

[337]


leave the companions whose influence seems

to be bad, and, if necessary, change one's

residence, or even one's neighborhood. Onemust lead an absolutely different life in

thought, in words, and actions, from the one

we are considering now; and above all, one

must bring a very critical and unfavorable

examination to bear upon the pleasure that

may be derived from the company of courte-

zans. If the student would, for a fortnight,

cast up a little account of these fleeting loves,

and would write down every day, after think-

ing the matter over carefully, a list of his

pleasures, with their pro rata value, and then

in an opposite column a list of his ennuis

and annoyances and disgusts, he would

be stupefied at the results. He would be

still further amazed if every evening, or

better still, every two hours, he made a note

of his ' i

state of mind. ' ' He would then beginto get some idea of the extraordinary illusion

which is falsifying the total of each day and

each month, and that makes him believe he

is amusing himself, or being amused, wheneach moment, taken by itself, is a mopent of

boredom or disgust, or, to say the least, in-

[338]

PAY-DBEAMS AND SENSUALITY

difference. The error is due to a curious phe-nomenon of auto-suggestion, which dispels the

memory of the reality and puts in its place

an invented, falsified memory. This pseudo-

memory is a state of mind manufactured out

of whole cloth. It is the state that he ex-

pected to be in, and that according to his in-

nocent fancy he feels ought to have really

existed, but which never for a single momentwas actually present in his consciousness.

Our power of illusion along these lines is

even so great that very often we pay no at-

tention to the real state of mind in which we

actually are, because this real state does not

tally with what we think it ought to be. This

illusion is nowhere so strong or so deplorableas when it comes to the valuation put uponthe pleasures of such women's company. Werepeat our statement, almost all the moments

spent with these poor creatures whose silly

brains are filled with coarse or stupid ideas

and intolerable whims, are, in themselves, dis-

agreeable; but the sum of these disagreeablemoments are transformed by vanity into an

agreeable memory. We do not hesitate to

state it once again, that he never takes into

[339]


account either the time he has wasted or the

money he has foolishly thrown away, or the

intellectual ruin which follows these excesses.

Neither does he give a thought to the true

pleasures which he has sacrificed, to the mu-

seums he could have visited, or the inspiring

lectures he might have attended. He forgets

the interesting conversations and the longwalks he might have had with his chosen

friends. He does not realize that the disgust

which follows one of these orgies is one of

the most unpleasant and contemptible feel-

ings he can experience in life. He never

dreams that he has deprived himself of the

opportunity of visiting the Alps or the Pyre-

nees, or of spending a little time in Brittany

during his vacation. He forgets that for the

price of a few nights spent in debauchery he

could have taken a trip in Belgium or Hol-

land or up the Rhine, or in Italy. He has

no conception of the rich harvest of memories

that can be stored up at twenty years of agefrom such travels, memories that he will re-

fresh in later years to brighten days of sor-

row and toil. Another thing that he will have

missed are the beautiful books of art, and

[340]


works on travel, etc., the engravings and

paintings that he might have had as lifelong

companions, and which would have alwaysbeen at his hand in the long winter evenings,

but which he never bought.

Even the vanity which he has gratified by

satisfying his desire to make this kind of dis-

play, is of an inferior quality. It can not be

compared with the pride which a student feels

in successes due to work; nor even to the

thousand little excusable vanities of the stu-

dent who is proud of his artistic treasures, or

who likes to talk about his travels. The ex-

istence of the student who "sees life" is, in

reality, horribly monotonous and unprofit-

able; and even more than that, it is stupid,

nauseatingly stupid.

IV

The social consequences of prostitution are

deplorable. This unfortunate kind of life,

called, probably in mockery, a "life of pleas-

ure," reduces a young man's morals to chaos,

and often leads him to the most barbarous

[341]


vices. In fact, the dangers which threaten

the student's health are so great, and the ef-

fects of the waste of time and of money, last

through so many years that, taking all these

reasons into account, no young man of spirit

would hesitate to turn over a new leaf andmake good, honest resolutions.

But there is another form of sensualitywhich we ought to touch upon without anyfalse modesty, whose ravages are none the

less dreadful for being secret. It is a vice

which has nothing seductive in it of itself and

one in which vanity throws no glamour over

the unworthy pleasures which it affords.

It is purely and simply a vice, and which

one hides because one is ashamed of it. It

is manifestly a sign of degeneration, and

should be considered pathological.

For these reasons the treatment is simpleand the cure certain. No sophisms conceal

the ugliness of this deplorable habit.

The unfortunate youth who is afflicted with

this form of neurosis has only his own sen-

sations to consider without their being tinged

by extraneous sentiments. This renders the

struggle, I will not say easy but possible. It

[342]


is possible to make a complete "transfer of

accounts/' and to apply the superabundant

energy to another page of the budget. The

whole trouble comes from the imagination,

therefore it is wise, the moment the sugges-tion springs up in the mind, to go out and

find someone else to bear one company, or

else to plunge energetically into one's work.

Here, more than anywhere else, the direct

struggle is dangerous, and victory lies in

flight. One must go on one's way with the

same indifference that one assumes when dogsare barking, knowing that the more one com-

mands them to stop, the harder they bark.

One must make every effort to render one's

lapses as few and as far apart as possible.

We must add still further, that the greatest

cause of this vice, is that empty-minded state

that lets every suggestion have its way, and

the absence of healthy, vigorous stimulation.

The great remedy, therefore, we must sayonce more, is to be found in methodical work

;

that is to say, in hearty, productive work, and

iu a. life full of active, energetic pleasures.

[343]

II

ENEMIES TO COMBAT: COMPANIONS,ACQUAINTANCES, ETC.

HAVING finished the main part of our work,the secondary dangers which threaten the

work of the student, remain to be rapidly re-

viewed. He should use the greatest care in

choosing his companions. He will meet

among those who pass as his friends, the

surest enemies of his future. First, there is

a certain number of rich young men, who,

lacking the stimulus that the need of supportwould give them, and spoiled by the easy hab-

its of their home, pass their youth foolishly

in preparing a blank existence for their old

age, and who, feeling that they themselves

are, after all, rather contemptible, ridicule

the hard workers in order to hide their owninner feeling of shame.

But there is another species of mind that

is still more formidable and that begins to

work its ravages even at college. This is

the class to whom those belong whose weak-

[344]

COMPANIONS, ACQUAINTANCES, ETC.

ness has rendered them pessimistic, and whoare discouraged even before the fight. Like

all helpless people, they are extremely en-

vious and hypocritical, and basely jealous.

This odious state of mind makes them prose-

lytes of a new order, most patient, persever-

ing proselytes, whose object seems to be to

discourage stronger wills. Their presence is

always depressing. They are continually on

the watch for failures in others, and they

finally acquire a most unfortunate influence.

Conscious of their own weakness and the

fatal outlook before them, they seem to take

pleasure in hindering others from making an

effort.

There are others again who are simply

lazy, who beg and exhort a companion to do

nothing; they try to lead him off to the sa-

loons, and plan to bring about opportunities

for debauchery. French students are muchbetter in certain ways than German students,

who are banded into little societies, which

take away all initiative and all independenceand lead them to drink to excess. 1

i Compare Th. de Wyzewa ;

' ' La vie et les moeurs eii Alle-

tnagne," "Bevue des Deux Mondes. " March 15, YearLXI.

[345]


They are more sober and get along to bet-

ter advantage by themselves. But they gen-

erally exaggerate the extent of their liberty.

Altho they are left alone in apparent liberty

in a great town, nevertheless, they are in

bondage wherever they go. Yet the cause of

this lies in themselves. The overpowering

vanity of twenty years of age makes them

submit docilely to public opinion; that is to

say, to the opinion of their comrades, and

principally of the most good-for-nothing fel-

lows, who, as a rule, have that kind of au-

thority which comes from audacity combined

with a bold bearing and a cock-sure manner

and peremptory tone and violent epithets of

abuse for all right and proper conduct. Theynearly always have that combination of quali-

ties which imposes on weak wills, and they

adopt this tone with every one with whom

they have anything to do. Their authority

grows by the strength given it by the already

confirmed proselytes, who have blindly ac-

cepted as the life of pleasure, as the ideal

life of a student, the most fatiguing, empty,and foolish sort of existence that it is possible

to imagine. They ruin the'ir health and their

[346]


intelligence in order to win the good opinionsof tHose whom they admire and whom they

servilely imitate. "If every man stuck to his

own vices," Lord Chesterfield

1

remarks,' ' few people would be as vicious as they are !

' '

To shine with the splendor of these youthswho lead a life of pleasure, is, according to

the same author, to shine with the unhealthyflicker of rotten wood in the dark. The truly

independent young man is he who repulses

such suggestions, and who knows how to call

this kind of pleasure by its true name, an

unmitigated bore and waste of time. Heknows how to refuse, politely but absolutely,

all such invitations. He does not allow him-

self to be influenced by ridicule; he avoids

being drawn into discussions, concerning his

work and the questions of pleasure, of which

he can plainly see the outcome. He knows

that the great majority of his companionshave never reflected upon the direction of

their own lives; he knows that they are car-

ried along as if by a whirlwind, the uncon-

scious sport of external forces, blown hither

i' 'Letters of Lord Chesterfield to his son Philip Stan-

hope." Letters of September and October, 1748.

[347J


and thither without will; and he attributes

no more importance to their opinion than an

alienist does to that of the unbalanced peoplewhom he examines. Because these young

people have absurd prejudices, it is absurd

that I, who am fully aware of their stupidity,

should look at things from their point of

view! Should I sacrifice my liberty and

health and all my delight in work to avoid

their sarcasms and to win their tolerance or

even their admiration! I know that their

pleasures only bring fatigue and leave them

in a state of stupefaction; shall I therefore

go and join in their carouses? Knowing, as

I do, that popular language expresses onlythe mediocre and coarse ideas of the masses,should I submit to the authority of epithets

and the association of words and formulas

and pretended axioms, which serve to legiti-

mize the triumph of the beast in man over his

rational will ? Never could I fall so low;soli-

tude is a thousand times preferable. It is

far better for a young man to leave the stu-

dent's quarters behind him and to find a home

by himself in a neighborhood that is far

enough away to discourage idle companions,

[348]


a pleasant, attractive room, that is scrupu-

lously clean and bright with sunlight and, if

possible, gay with plants or a glimpse of

green from the windows. He should then gointo the society of people who are superior to

himself, make visits to his professors, let

them know how his work is getting on, and

tell them about his aspirations and his dis-

couragements, and seek among them to find

one who would be, as it were, his spiritual di-

rector. Instead of the saloons and the cafes,

he should make regular visits to the museums,and take walks in the country, and enjoyconversation in his own home with one or two

friends of steady and refined character.

As to the attitude of the student toward

clubs and associations, he ought to be en-

tirely in sympathy with them. The majorityof young men would profit by deserting the

restaurants for fraternity houses. They will

find there, it is true, a society of somewhat

mediocre caliber, but at the same time, they

will have a chance to meet some of the su-

perior men of the college, and they will learn

to know each other and sympathize with each

other. The only danger which is great

[349]


but not so great as that of the cafe or res-

taurant, is of forming those habits which send

their roots deeply into the obscure regions of

our activity, and which, little by little, mas-

ter our will and prevent its development, just

as Gulliver was fastened to the earth by the

thousands of fragile bonds made of his hairs

which the Lilliputians had fastened to as

many tiny pegs driven into the earth. The

student, little by little, feels a craving for the

excitement of the society of his fellows, he

wants to form one of the little company,which habitually wastes its time in rooms

filled with tobacco smoke and in doing noth-

ing during the hours which ought to be de-

voted to taking a walk in the open air. An-

other very great danger, is the great numberof papers and reviews which waste one's

mental energy by scattering it, and conse-

quently annihilating its influence. Such read-

ing is apt to throw one's thoughts into a

state of feverish excitement similar to that

which stimulants give the body. This excite-

ment is doubly injurious, injurious in itself,

because of the restlessness it produces, and

injurious by its ultimate profitlessness. Who[350]


is not in a bad humor and thoroughly ex-

hausted after getting up from reading eight

or ten periodicals? And who, for a moment,would fail to appreciate the difference be-

tween the nervous, unhealthy fatigue which

follows such reading and the feeling of

healthy enjoyment which follows earnest, me-

thodical, and productive work?

But on condition that he remains master of

himself and does not fall into bad habits, and

does not dissipate his mental forces, the stu-

dent can find in his fraternity a beneficial

diversion, a relaxation, the chance of a laughwith good-humored companions, and even of

a stimulating discussion. There is also morechance here of forming the nucleus of a circle

of chosen friends. In the same way that

printing has emancipated the intelligence by

placing at the disposal of unbiased minds the

works of the great geniuses of every age, so

a student fraternity alienates each one of its

members from the baneful "liaisons" of the

restaurant and chance-meetings with tempta-

tion, and brings him in contact with person-

alities and temperaments of widely different

character, among whom he can find friends

[351]


after his own heart. Without these fraterni-

ties, such friendships would be a matter of

chance. The wonderful variety of tempera-ment and character presented by an associa-

tion of young men, gives an opportunity for

the formation of groups congenial, either

through sympathy of temperament or the

reverse, groups which, as will be shown, are

essential to the process of self-education.

As to worldly relations, the student can ex-

tract from them nothing but a certain ease of

manner and veneer of culture their only at-

tributes. What one calls' l the world,

' ' in the

provinces at least, is by no means a society

calculated to temper either the intelligence

or the character. Morality there has a piti-

fully low standard and is unspeakably hypo-critical. Money forgives everything. Thecreed which these people profess is a servile

adoration of fortune. A young man can learn

hardly anything there that is not the off-

spring of a perverted conscience. He most

certainly does not learn the lesson of so-

briety. Neither does he acquire a respect for

superiority of intellect or of character. The

people of the world, by reason of their lack

[352]


of true culture, are rigorously subservient to

popular prejudice. Folly is contagious; if

he allows himself to become an habitue of

such society, the young man will soon see

some of his most cherished illusions smashed

to atoms, and worse still, he will see ridiculed

his righteous protests against social condi-

tions with their injustice and insincerity.

The world will soon make him, by its own

example, wholly indifferent to everything that

is out of the running. It will deprive him of

all his nobler ideals, and dry up the springsof his enthusiasm. What an enviable fate is

his when he has developed into one of those

men ' '

always looking, always listening, never

thinking," whom Marivaux 1

so aptly com-

pares to people who spend their lives at the

window. What a culmination when he has

got to the point of hearing without being in-

terested in anything, obliged, in order to hide

from himself the horrible emptiness of his

existence, to submit to those tyrannical obli-

gations which make the life of the man of

the world the most fatiguing and the most

foolish and the most hopelessly monotonous

i "Vie de Marianne," Part V.

L S53j


that can possibly be imagined. Any discus-

sion of a subject which will lead to a differ-

ence of opinion, is there considered bad form,and conversation is reduced to the banal. Ayoung man of intelligence and character is

bewildered by it. Not only does he waste his

time, but he also loses something of his moral

vigor. Far better is the companionship of

his friends with their violent arguments and

their discussions, adorned like those of Ho-

mer's heroes, with impassioned epithets.

ni

ENEMIES TO COMBAT: SOPHISMS OF THEINDOLENT

INDOLENCE, like every other vice, seeks an

intellectual justification. The majority of

men do not even attempt to resist the de-

mands of their lower nature, and it can easily

be realized that solemnly pronounced axioms

and proverbs that sound infallible, will al-

ways be ready for use as a justification, and

even as a glorification of the idler.

Belief in the immutability of character re-

ceived at birth has already been touched uponand it is hoped, definitely dismissed. This

naive theory is an example of the power pos-

sest by words to render creditable the ideas

which they enunciate. The subject will not

be reopened, except to emphasize how effi-

cient a support this credulity is able to give

to our cowardice and indolence. Perhaps the

feeling of revolt against the length of time re-

quired for self-conquest, supplies this creduli-

[355]


ty with its greatest stimulus, causing it, as a

fair return, to react upon our indolence with

borrowed energy. This theory is, moreover,

only one of the weapons which laziness finds

in the perfect arsenal of maxims which its

supporters have supplied.

The devil, according to an old fable, is ob-

liged to vary his temptations in order to al-

lure sinners;but for the indolent, this is not

necessary. They will swallow the most or-

dinary bait, and the grim fisherman is sure

of his catch each time. In fact, no vice is

more ready to justify itself by such specious

and ingenious means.

There is one very general complaint amongstudents. Those who are obliged, in order to

cover their expenses, to tutor or teach in

smaller colleges or to act as preceptors, as

well as those who only have to give a few

lessons, all declare with the greatest regret,

that their daily work takes all their time.

But, as has been pointed out, there is al-

ways plenty of time for those who know howto make it. It is impossible that in the twen-

ty-four hours of the day one can not find the

four hours that are necessary and that would

[356]

SOPHISMS OF THE INDOLENT

suffice for thorough intellectual culture. Avery few hours a day, in fact, are enough, if

one takes care to put by for study those mo-

ments when the mind is in full possession of

its vigor and resourcefulness. If to these

hours of close application, there are added

for taking notes and copying and tabulatingmaterial those moments which are usuallyfrittered away, there is no career which will

not allow room for a considerable intellec-

tual development. Furthermore, it is not

long before even those professions which ap-

pear to have the least routine, such as law

and medicine and the teaching profession,

cease almost completely, as has already been

said, to contribute anything to the intelli-

gence. At the end of a few years the pro-fessor knows his course. The lawyer and the

physician have, except in rare instances, ex-

hausted all new cases. That alone explains

why, in the highest positions, one finds so

many men who are remarkable in their spe-

cialty, but who have, without any doubt, let

their superior faculties rust for lack of use,

and who, outside of their regular occupations,

are stupid to a surprizing degree. For ex-

[357]


ample, the fatigue of a professor's work is

not wholly intellectual fatigue; it tends to

overstrain the muscles which are used in

speaking, and as these muscles belong to a

very limited group, they get tired quickly.

This local fatigue, however, has but a very

slight effect on the condition of one's general

strength, and it by no means excludes the

possibility of intellectual work.

Furthermore, many men admit, when theyare pushed to it, that they could find three

or four hours each day for study; but, they

say, to prepare for such or such an examina-

tion, one must work at least six hours a day ;

therefore they have a good reason for doing

nothing. Apply yourself to work, even if

only for three hours each day, and it will

soon be discovered that the work is not profit-

less, and that the sum total of working hours

is the same, whether three hours a day for

six months, or six hours a day for three

months has been the time employed. Thework is the same, but results are different,

for, as Leibnitz has said, "the more we try

to polish our minds by excessive study, the

more we are apt to dull them."

[358]


Some indolent people recognize the fact

that they can make no excuse for lack of time,

but there is no use in starting to work, they

say, when one is not in the proper condition

for it. A dull, sleepy mind can accomplish

nothing of value. They assert that in the

morning work has to be given up, because so

much time is required to get the mind into

"proper trim/' No greater mistake can

be imagined. If one has slept too sound-

ly, it is always possible, after persever-

ing for a quarter of an hour, to makesome effort to put one's self into the right

mood. I have never seen young people, un-

less they had had a very poor night, whowere not rewarded by the ability to do ex-

cellent work if they perseveringly struggled

against their morning sleepiness. The intel-

ligence soon becomes acute, and can workwith ease. The truth of the matter is, that

this pretended torpor of the intelligence is

nothing else but torpor of the will.

[359J


nSpace does not allow of a detailed review

of all the sophisms of the indolent. However,in a book which is dedicated to young peoplewho are planning to do some of the world's

work, it is necessary to investigate one of

the most serious axioms in vogue; an axiom

which is lightly uttered by men who do not

in the least suspect the havoc that their words

cause. Many workers, who are obliged to live

in small towns, are discouraged before they

even begin their work, because every one

says that it is impossible to do any real

intellectual work, except in the large univer-

sities. In France, one often hears it said

that no work is possible, except in Paris.

There is nothing more fatal nor discouraging

than this statement solemnly reiterated bymen of talent.

It contains only the smallest particle of

truth. And no matter who the authorities

are, who are quoted in its support, it is al-

most wholly false.

[360]


In the first place, the facts are against it.

The ideas of the majority of great thinkers

have been developed in solitude. Descartes,

Spinoza, Kant, Kousseau, and in later days,

Darwin, Stuart Mill, Eenouvier, Spencerand Tolstoi, who have revolutionized modern

thought on so many points, owe the best partof their success to solitude. In fact, there is

nothing in the nature of intellectual workthat necessitates living in Paris. That Paris

alone in France recognizes talent and that it

alone can surround the successful man with

the glamour of consistent publicity, can be

granted as a fact. On account of our excess-

ive centralization, our attention is turned to-

ward Paris, and it is only because it is the

focus toward which every eye is turned, that

reputations become so brilliant;but this priv-

ilege is not confined to men of talent, and a

notorious criminal receives the same atten-

tion as a writer whose works will endure for

ages.1

Still, moreover, tho Paris may be the only

medium by which well-known names can be

1 Here what is said of Paris applies to other large cities,

us New York, London, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston, etc.

[3611


brought before the public, it is by no means

indispensable during those long periods of

early work and attention, which alone oughtto precede the first success.

Neither has it been proved that Paris is

indispensable to the physician and to the psy-

cho-physician, who need laboratories. This

statement will absolutely cease to be true

when the universities possessing the right of

freehold will be able to develop their re-

sources to better advantage. These univer-

sities will furnish a new proof of the law laid

down by Haeckel, the great German natural-

ist, that ' ' the scientific output of the universi-

ties is in inverse ratio to their size." This

is because, in the sciences, as in other direc-

tions, a little enthusiasm and initiative, coup-led with a passion for research, will take the

place of material support, and accomplish

marvels, even when the resources at their

command are inadequate. On the other hand,even in laboratories thoroughly equipped, an

inert and unambitious mind will accomplish

nothing. The important thing, therefore, is

to possess unbounded enthusiasm. A labora-

tory is only useful as a verifier of precon-

[362]


ceived ideas. The idea lies in the discovery

itself, not in the apparatus that facilitated it.

Outside of the sciences, there is the studyof history, which requires documents to be

consulted, wherever they are to be found;but

philosophy, literature, the philosophy of his-

tory, and, among the sciences, mathematics,

botany, zoology, vegetable chemistry, and

geology, is life in a big city essential to

these? If talent consists less in the absorp-tion of numerous materials than in the as-

similation of chosen materials, and if the

quality of mind is distinguished chiefly byits power to organize facts that have been

observed or gathered together, and to putlife into them, who can not see that our re-

searches in libraries ought to be followed by

long periods of meditation and calm?

These great libraries even are not without

their serious drawbacks. When it is so easyto see what our predecessors have thoughton questions which interest us, we are finally

apt to lose the habit of thinking for ourselves,

and as no power weakens more quickly

through lack of exercise, than the ability to

make personal efforts, one is very apt soon

[363]


to reach the point of always and everywhere

substituting attempts of memory for active

personal research.

A man's capacity for original thought is

nearly always inversely proportionate to the

amount of stimulus furnished by his environ-

ment. It is for this reason that students en-

dowed with a very good memory are nearly

always inferior to those of their friends whoare less fortunate in this respect. The lat-

ter, mistrusting their memory, have as little

recourse to it as possible. They make a verycareful choice of those details which they in-

tend to introduce by repetition into their

memory; they only choose what is essential

to their subject, leaving everything to ob-

livion that is purely incidental. And the

memory, the essential thing itself, is therebymore strongly organized. An organized

memory is like a picked army carefully" en-

sconced. " Thus, a man who can not have

access to innumerable libraries only sur-

rounds himself with books of the highest or-

der, which he reads with care and which he

meditates over and criticizes, supplying whatis lacking by personal observation and by

[364]


thoughtful discrimination, which is the best

kind of discipline for the mind.

Calm meditation is indispensable for this

work of organization, but it is difficult to in-

dulge in it in Paris. Not only is it impossi-ble to find that absolute silence which the

country brings, where one can almost hear

one's self think, but the hygienic surround-

ings there are deplorable. The sea of chim-

neys and rain-pipes at one's window, the

over-stimulating artificial environment, the

almost necessary condition of having to re-

main seated during one's pleasures as well

as one's studies, all contribute to ruin the

health.

Still further, one is sure finally to acquirein Paris something of that restless excite-

ment which is so characteristic of the inhabi-

tants of great cities. The impressions that

enter the mind there are too numerous, they

fairly bubble around one, until, after a while,

by reason of this perpetual commotion, one

loses much of one's personality. The atten-

tion is constantly fastened on little things,

and because it is very difficult to hold one's

self back in this precipitous course, one is

[365]


naturally obliged to bow to the dictates of

fashion. Even work itself has somethingfeverish and unhealthy about it in Paris. Tobe convinced how much the mental condition

of the worker is affected by these various

causes of irritability in one's surroundings,one has only to read the very sincere and in-

structive treatise of M. Huret on the evo-

lution of literature.1 This draws attention

to the effects of crowding and congestion in

an enervating environment, and makes one's

pity flow for the sufferings of the manyyoung writers, who are not only devoured by

envy and restlessness, but who are badly

lodged in uncomfortable dwellings. As for

myself, I declare I can see how living in

cramped quarters on the fourth story in a

street filled with noise, and far from the

fields and woods, might produce irritation,

but I can not see how such a state of thingscan give a young man any added intellectual

value.

And when we come to the point of speakingof the society which is found in large cities,

i Jules Huret: "Enquete sur revolution litteraire,"

Paris, 1891.

[366]


I can in the heart of a little village have in-

tercourse with the greatest spirits of the age.

I only have to buy their works. These great

men, having confided the best of their geniusto their works, and, as a rule, not liking to

speak of the works which they have producedwith so much toil, look upon society as a re-

laxation. The intellectual profit which young

people can draw from their society is insig-

nificant compared to the profit they can de-

rive from the study of their works. The im-

mense advantage that such relations can have

upon a young man of talent and energy is

based on that feeling of emulation which is

produced by a contact with success;but such

opportunities of intellectual intercourse nat-

urally fall to the lot of but very few.

The one great advantage of living in Paris

and it can not be overestimated is the op-

portunity for esthetic culture which can be

found there. Music, painting, sculpture, elo-

quence; there is in this marvelous city an

artistic initiative which is lacking in the ma-

jority of provincial towns. But once this in-

itiation has been received, the provinces have

many resources for any intellectual worker

[367]


who wishes to avail himself of them. Be-

sides, to be provincial does not necessarily

mean to live in some little village or remote

parish. One can be provincial in Paris, for

the only meaning implied in the term is to

signify the absence of all outside interests.

The provincial is the man whose mind is

filled with unimportant gossip ;who sees noth-

ing in life beyond eating, drinking and sleep-

ing and making money ;he is a stupid fellow,

who has no other pastime but smoking, play-

ing cards and making coarse jokes with peo-

ple of the same intellectual level as his own.

But if a young man, tho he lives in the prov-

inces, even in a little village, has a love of

nature, and if he lives in constant communica-

tion with the greatest thinkers, he certainly

does not deserve the epithet, provincial, in

the contumacious sense generally associated

with it.

And what compensations there are to be

found on being at some distance from the

great centers! Some authors have comparedlittle villages to convents. There may be

found the silence and the calm of cloisters;

there one can follow a train of thought with-

[ .368 ]


out being incessantly distracted by one's en-

vironment. No more interruptions, no more

scattered efforts! One can live in one's self

and enjoy one's own thoughts* In such a

calm and tranquil environment, our deepest

impressions gain strength. Ideas are awa-

kened, little by little, and group themselves

according to their affinities, and memories

come back again. Such slow, calm, and pow-erful growth of the intelligence is vastly su-

perior to the hurried, uneven, feverish de-

velopment which one is apt to undergo in

large cities.

The nights in the country are nights of

rest, which assure a morrow full of energy,and the hours of recreation which are passedin the woods or open air are hours of invigo-

ration. No more irritability, no more fever.

It becomes easy to pursue an idea steadily

and tranquilly along every one of its possible

ramifications. The work of committing

things to memory can be accomplished, and

infinitely better accomplished, without beingbent over a work-table. But in the forest

or fields, the blood, quickened by walking,

and, as it were, suffused in oxygen, enables

[369]


the mind to retain forever the impressionswhich are entrusted to it in these happy mo-

ments. The work of composition and medi-

tation becomes easy; ideas run through the

mind and are readily classified; one comes in

and sits down to work with a distinct plan of

work, an ample storehouse of impressionsand ideas, and furthermore, with all the hy-

gienic advantages of exercise in the open air.

But it is useless to emphasize this further,

because talent is not produced by external

conditions. Development does not take place

from without to within, but rather from with-

in to without. The circumstances of the

outer world are never more than accessories;

they help or they hinder, perhaps less, than

one is in the habit of believing. One must

therefore not classify students into students

who live in Paris, and students who do not

live there. There are only two great classes

to be established among them: those who

really work, the energetic, and those who do

not know how to work, or the weak willed;

the first, in whatsoever environment they live,

accomplish marvels with very little means,the first expression of their energy being, as

[370]


a rule, to create the means; the second, tho

surrounded by libraries and laboratories, dv

nothing and never will do anything.

Ill

The end of the fourth book has now almost

been reached. It was necessary, first, to take

up the question of vague sentimentality, a

most dangerous state to the will. Its causes

and its remedies were examined, for the

foolish illusions which cause such prodigiouserrors in the valuation which the student

puts upon his pleasures had to be destroyed.

We were forced to stop to take up the un-

pleasant subject of sensuality under the va-

rious forms in which it appears, and to ex-

amine the best means of struggling against it.

And, finally,we have been obliged, while clear-

ing the way, to destroy the prejudices and

sophisms which laziness has suggested, in the

form of axioms, to those who will not workunder any consideration. It now remains

for us to turn about and do the opposite

thing; that is to say, to begin constructive

[371]


operations. After the analytical meditations,

of which we have just given an example, and

which each student can work out more com-

pletely from his own experiences and his

personal reflections, must come the creative

meditations, by which the will can be stimu-

lated and the energy strengthened.

[372]

IV

JOYS OF WORK

THERE is no sadder reflection than that

produced by the shortness of this life. Wefeel our hours and days and years slipping

uncontrollably away. We are conscious that

this flight of time is bearing us rapidly to-

ward death. Those who have frittered their

time in frivolous occupations, who have left

no works behind them to mark the way along

which they have passed, experience a singu-

lar sensation when they look behind them.

The years seem to them barren and empty,for such they are if they bear no memory of

efforts which have ripened into achievement.

The vanished life seems reduced to nothing-

ness, and the feeling irresistibly arises that

the past is nothing but a vain dream.

On the other hand, when our progress be-

gins to lose the interest of novelty, when the

difficulties of existence have taught us the

limit of our powers, and when not only the

[373]


present but the future appears monotonous,then life seems to quicken its path, and, to the

impression that the past was nothing but a

dream, there is added another still more dis-

tressing, that the present itself is only an

illusion. To those who do not know how to

overcome the degenerating tendencies of the

organic life, such as laziness or subjection to

social or business life, by hours of happymeditation, this illusion gives them a hope-

lessly helpless feeling. They are carried

along like prisoners at a rapid gait and

against their will.

The wise man is borne along just as rap-

idly as they, but he has realized the futility

of resistance; he has freed himself by ac-

cepting what he could not avoid, and he tries

at least to give his journey the appearance of

being a long one. He succeeds in doing this

by not letting the past wholly disappear. Heknows that for those to whom the journeyleaves no memories behind it, this feeling that

life is only a long drawn out illusion without

any reality, becomes intolerable. He knows

that this feeling comes inevitably to idle peo-

ple, to "men of the world," to men of medi-

[374]

JOYS OF WORK

ocre caliber, whose lives are warped by mean

prejudices and sterile efforts, to all those

who, in a word, have done no work that has

amounted to anything.One can only avoid this feeling of the lack

of reality by subordinating one's whole ex-

istence to some great ideal which can be

slowly realized by continued efforts. Thenone will experience the opposite sentiment,

that of the vivid reality of life. Just as the

farmer's work leaves traces of every effort

which he makes, so is it with the writer whois -convinced of the value that his work will

have in society when he has attained his high-

est development. For him, each day shows

some tangible results of his labor. His life

finally becomes identified in part with his

work and lends him something of its concrete

reality. There are other ways in which the

life of the worker is much more profoundlyreal than that of the lazy man. Confirmed

idleness takes away from us the feeling of

our existence and substitutes for it a vain

despicable dream. Only regular, happy, pro-

ductive work can give life its full savor. That

upwelling sense of energy which we call the

[375]


"joy of living," can only arise and be made

a part of daily life by work. Work increases

tenfold the enjoyment of life, but the lazy

ignore it.

On the other hand, if the life of the in-

tellectual worker were not naturally filled

with happy hours, if it were not a source

from which the joys of an active life rush

forth abundantly, it would still present a

sharp contrast to a life of indolence. For, bythe fact that the worker alone escapes from

the worries, paltry cares, and miserable bore-

doms that are so intolerable to the idle, his

existence is more enviable than all others.

Darwin wrote in his journal: "During mystay at Maer, my health has been poor, and

I have been scandalously lazy; the impres-sion that this has made upon me is that noth-

ing is so unbearable as laziness.991 "When

a soldier, or a laborer complains of the workwhich they have to do, let them be put to do-

ing nothing,"

says Pascal. In fact, the lazy

man is a "heautontimorousmenos," or a self-

executioner, and the idleness of his mind and

body soon begets a dull, miserable sense of

i" Journal of Darwin," August, 1839.,

[376]

JOYS OF WORK

ennui. Many rich people, whose fortune has

relieved them of the salutary necessity of

work, and who do not possess the courage to

undertake some permanent work for them-

selves, soon learn the meaning of this dull,

miserable ennui. They are plunged in mel-

ancholy, and are cynical about everything, or

else they try to find diversion in sensual

pleasures, which soon, by their satiety, re-

double their miseries.

But absolute idleness is rare, and, as the

proverb says," Satan finds some mischief

still for idle hands to do." When the mindhas no more worthy occupation, it is soon

filled with trifling preoccupations. He whodoes nothing at all has plenty of time to chew

the cud of petty annoyances. Such rumina-

tion, however, far from nourishing the mind,ruins it. The force of our feelings havingno legitimate channel through which to flow

and cultivate the nobler side of our nature,

sinks down into the depths of our animalityand stagnates there. The imperceptiblewounds to our self-esteem grow sore, the in-

evitable annoyances of life poison our daysand disturb our sleep. To live like a lord is

[377]


not so enviable as it seems, when we look

closely at the life. Pleasures themselves be-

come a burden, they lose all spice and flavor,

because, for man, true pleasure is insep-

arable from activity. Laziness reacts even

on the body, and tends to exhaust the health

by the languor and weakness which attend

the functions of nutrition and intercourse.

As for the intelligence, it is characterized in

this condition by vague dreaming and morbid

and profitless preoccupation. The mind"gnaws itself,

"to use a popular French ex-

pression. As for the will, it is scarcely neces-

sary to recall with what distressing rapidity

it is atrophied in the lazy man; every effort

becomes difficult for him, so that he managesto suffer when an active man would not even

suspect the possibility of discomfort. Howdifferent it is with the worker ! Work beingthe expression of continuous and lasting ef-

fort, forms, in itself, an excellent education

for the will. This is more true of intellec-

tual work than of all other kinds, for, with

the majority of manual work, the thoughtsare free to wander like vagabonds wherever

they will. On the other hand, mental work

[378]

JOYS OF WORK

presupposes both the obedience of the body,which is, as it were, held taut by the atten-

tion, and the vigorous discipline of the

thoughts and feelings. If this effort, bywhich thought is controlled, is not followed

by fatigue or by self-abandon, if one takes

care not to abuse one's forces, if one has

known how to husband them in such a wayas to preserve, through the long hours which

can not be given to work, a certain amount

of vigor, even tho it be somewhat diminished,

one will finally acquire a state of mental

alertness, and the habit of keeping a watch

over one 's self-control. As the secret of hap-

piness lies in knowing how to direct one's

own thoughts and feelings, one will find bythis indirect method of working the philoso-

pher's touchstone of happiness.It is, however, to be lamented that the or-

dinary run of people, who are the dictators

of language, have associated with the wordwork so many ideas of toil and weariness and

affliction, when psychology furnishes us with

superabundant evidence that work causes

pleasure, provided the outlay does not ex-

ceed what the normal regular functions of

[379]


nutrition can supply.1

Montaigne quaintlyremarked concerning virtue, that "her most

distinctive charm lieth in her perpetual joy-

ousness . . . her role is i * . to be

always serene . . . virtue is not en-

throned on the sharp peak of a rugged inac-

cessible mountain: those who have ap-

proached her say, on the contrary, that she

dwelleth in a beautiful, flowery, fertile plain.

Thus may she be reached by those whoknow the way, by shady paths bordered with

green grass and sweet flowers . . . theywho have never visited this goddess in her

haunts, who have never seen her, beautiful,

triumphant, radiant, lovable, and full of cour-

age, the profest and irreconcilable enemy of

bitterness and displeasure, of fear and con-

straint . . . have failed because theyhave made this a false image of her, and rep-

resented her as sad and quarrelsome and

spiteful, threatening and petty, set on a rock

in a lonely place, overgrown with briers as

1 For the development of this thought and the strong

proofs in its support, see the article by the present writer,

"Plaises et Douleur," in the "Bevue philosophique," May

18, 1890.

[380]

JOYS OF WORK

a fantom to frighten men. ' ' 1 What Mon-

taigne said of virtue, we might also say of

intellectual work, for our young people are

never taught its true nature, which, also like

virtue, is "beautiful and triumphant, thepro-fest and irreconcilable enemy of grief and

pain, flagrant-eyed and delicate of taste."

For the happiness that work brings is morethan a negative happiness. It not only pre-

vents life from losing its savor and becom-

ing transformed into an unreal dream; it

not only prevents the mind from being in-

vaded by annoyances and petty worries, but

it is in itself and by its results a keen source

of happiness.In itself, it raises us far above the vulgar

mass. It introduces us on the footing of

perfect equality and of charming intimacyinto the society of the greatest and noblest

spirits of all time. And by this means, it

constantly renews our sources of interest.

While the idle man has need of a society

which is often beneath him in order to passthe time away, the worker is sufficient unto

himself. The impossibility of self-sufficiency

i Montaigne,"Essays/' I. XXV.

[381]


forces the lazy man to depend upon others,

and obliges him to undergo a thousand petty

degradations which the worker never expe-riences. So that when one says "work is

liberty," one is not merely using a meta-

phor. Epictetus divides things into two

classes, things which concern us, and thingswhich do not. He remarks that "in pursu-

ing the things that do not concern us, most

of our disappointments and our sufferings

arise." Thus, as the happiness of the idle

depends wholly upon others, the man who is

accustomed to work finds the greatest hap-

piness in himself.

Furthermore, the succession of the days,

which, for the idle only marks the progressof old age and an empty life, slowly but sure-

ly contribute to the storehouse of knowledgelaid up by the hard-working student, and

just as each evening the growth of certain

plants can be computed, in the same way,after each week of effort, the young mancan notice a certain growth of vigor in his

faculties. These slow progressions, indefi-

nitely repeated, will lead him to a very high

degree of intellectual power. After moral

[382]

JOYS OF WORK

grandeur, nothing shines so brightly as a

cultivated mind. The idle man grows moreand more stupid as he gets older

;the worker,

on the other hand, sees his authority increas-

ing year by year over those who surround

him.

Then what happens? While old age grad-

ually extinguishes the pleasures of the senses

and brings the rudest disappointment to

purely selfish satisfactions, it multiplies the

joys of life for those who have broadened

their human culture. Not one of the sources

of true happiness can fail with the progressof the years. Neither the interest that one

takes in science or in literature or in nature

or humanity will diminish. Quite the con-

trary. Nothing is more true than the words

of Quinet: "When old age had come, I found

it much less bitter than you made it out to

be. The years which you said would be full

of misery and distress have been even sweet-

er to me than those of youth. ... I ex-

pected it to be like an icy peak, narrow and

deserted, and wrapt in fog ;but I saw, on the

contrary, opened up before me, a vast horizon

which my eyes had hitherto never seen. I

[383]


realized myself more completely, and also,

every act that I did. . . ." Then he

added: "You say that the feelings become

dulled with living. But I feel very sure that

if I should live a century, I would never growaccustomed to what I find revolting to-day.

' n

The life of the intellectual worker is thus

the most truly happy life. It deprives one

of no real pleasure, it alone gives us fully

the feeling of the reality of our existence; it

dispels that impression which is so inevitable

and unpleasant for the idle man, that life is

a dream without reality. It delivers us fromthe miserable bondage of thought, which

makes the man who has no occupation the

mere plaything of external circumstances;it

does not permit the mind to worry over in-

significant preoccupations or low thoughts.

To these indirect benefits, however, a life of

labor adds still others; it tempers the will,

the source of all lasting happiness, it makes

us inhabitants of that city of light in which

dwell the elite of humanity; and finally, it

prepares us for a happy old age, surrounded

by deference and respect. In an indirect way,

i"L 'Esprit Nouveau," Book VII. Chap. II.

[384]

JOYS OF WORK

it lavishes prodigally upon us, in addition to

the higher joys of the mind and soul, the sat-

isfaction afforded by a feeling of honest

pride, which may be summed up in the sense

of authority that one has acquired, and in

the realization of superiority. Those verysatisfactions for which commonplace minds

are always looking, often in vain the dis-

play of luxury or fortune or dignity or politi-

cal power the worker finds without a search.

They are like an extra portion thrown into

the bargain, as it were, to assure good meas-

ure, and added to those rich gifts, which are

the offspring of those just laws on which

society is based.

II

It is evident that the preceding meditations,

both those of a " destructive " character as

well as those intended to strengthen the de-

sire for good, are the barest outlines, mere

sketches, which are very incomplete, and

which each one must fill in to suit his own

personal experiences and reflections and

[385]


reading. The essential point in this kind of

meditation is not to pass lightly over an idea

or a sentiment which would serve to strength-

en one's distaste for an idle life, or to give

enthusiasm to one's will. It is necessary, as

we have said above, that each consideration

should be slowly"distilled,

" and penetratethe very depths of the soul in order to pro-

duce the strong emotions of repulsion or af-

fection.

Until now we have studied chiefly our owninner resources. We must, however, cast a

glance upon the outer world, on our envi-

ronment in the most general sense of the

word, and look very closely to see what helpa young man who is anxious to complete the

education of his will may find there.

[386]

BOOK V

THE RESOURCES OF OUR ENVIRONMENT

[387]

PUBLIC OPINION, PROFESSORS, ETC.

WE have hitherto taken up the question of

the "education of the will" as if we had none

but purely personal resources;as if we were

isolated in the world without being able to

hope for any aid whatever from society. If

we were abandoned by fate to our own

energy, it would not be long before we would

be throwing away our arms and sitting down

discouraged at the length of time requiredfor the conquest of ourselves; but altho the

impulse that moves us to try to perfect our

will must necessarily spring from our inner

moral nature, this impulse needs the supportof very powerful social influence to sustain

its enthusiasm.

We are, in reality, never isolated and

thrown upon our own resources; our family,

our immediate surroundings, the people of

our village or our little town, sustain our

[389]


efforts by their admiration, and by their re-

doubles affection and unprejudiced sympa-

thy, and when we achieve any brilliant suc-

cess the applause of the public at large

upholds us.

Nothing great in the world is effected with-

out prolonged effort, and no effort can be

sustained during months and years without

the energy being galvanized by public opin-

ion. Even those who openly reject popular

opinions, find in the warm sympathy of an

enthusiastic minority the courage to brave

the majority. But to hold out alone for long

years against a unanimous opinion demandsa superhuman tenacity of which I know no

example.

Bain, conversing with Mill on the subject

of Energy, declared that its two essential

sources were, either a natural superabundant

vigor, or else a stimulant which produces ex-

citement. Mill replied:" There! stimulation

is what people never sufficiently allow for." 1

In fact, public opinion is an energetic stimu-

lant, and as nothing or nobody can^contradict

i"John Stuart Mill, A Criticism," by A. Bain, London,

1882, page 149.

[390]


it, its power may become phenomenal. It is

impossible to exaggerate its effects. In

Athens, this unanimous admiration of phys-ical force and literary genius brought forth,

in spite of the smallness of the country, the

noblest array of athletes, poets and philoso-

phers that any country has ever seen. In

Lacedemonia, the desire for public praise

produced a race of extraordinary energy.

The story is well known, and probably maybe true, of the Spartan boy who was sur-

prized while stealing a fox, and who, havinghidden it under his tunic, let himself be

cruelly torn and bitten rather than betrayhis secret. One can not say that they were

an exceptional people, when we have seen the

redskins, on one of the lowest steps of the

human ladder, endure the most cruel tor-

ments to show their contempt for their ene-

mies, and have also seen that many villains,

for fear of appearing cowardly, can show a

stoical courage even on the scaffold. In our

modern societies the desire, not to gain in-

dependence and security, but to indulge in

luxury and style, the desire to eclipse others

and to parade one's foolish vanity, will make

[391]


a whole race of merchants and bankers and

leaders of commerce willing to engage in the

most repulsive occupations. Nearly all men

judge things only by the price that public

opinion gives to them. Not only does opinionswell the sails which move our bark, but it

is she who holds the rudder, taking awayfrom us even the choice of our route and re-

ducing us to a purely passive role.

This power of public opinion upon us is

so strong that we can not bear to see any

sign of contempt, even from unknown peo-

ple, or from people whom we have every rea-

son to despise. Every professor of gymnas-tics knows that young men can accomplishwonders when a stranger is present. In

learning to swim or to skate, it doubles one's

boldness to feel that one is observed. If wewish further to test this power of others upon

us, we only have to think of how much wewould suffer if we were obliged to go clothed

as a beggar, even in a town where we had

never been before, but especially to go

through our own street in such a ridiculous

guise. The misery that a woman suffers

in wearing a gown that is out of fashion, in-

[ 392 ]


dicates the weight with which the opinion of

others bears upon us. I can distinctly re-

member the mortification that I felt at twen-

ty years of age, still being very young, and

at college, at being obliged to wear my stu-

dent 's gown with a tiny patch on the elbow,

which I doubtless was the only one to notice.

One never dreams that one might deliber-

ately turn to advantage this frightful despot-

ism that society exercises over the least of

our actions, and so a great force is lost for

lack of knowing how to put it to a good use.

In school, the boy submits to the last de-

gree to the pressure of opinion exercised byhis comrades and masters and parents, be-

cause all these forces are brought to bear

upon him. Nevertheless, these forces are

only brought to bear upon intellectual work,

and, even on this point, his companions gen-

erally show poor judgment. They have a

certain feeling of contempt for the "dig," or

the hard-working student of average intelli-

gence. The easy, graceful successes which

blossom, as it were, of their own accord,

thanks to the fertility of the soil, are more

attractive. One sees in these young people

[393]


the great error of our systems of education,

which sacrifices the cultivation of the will to

intellectual culture. But, on the whole, the

threefold opinion of parents and professorsand students makes a very strong current

flowing in one direction;and in consequence,

the school often gets wonderful results from

young people, who, if left to themselves,

would do nothing.

Furthermore, this opinion is very dis-

tinctly exprest each week in some tangible

way, either by marks awarded for composi-

tion, or notes read in the class, or by the

rebuke or praise of the professor before his

fellow students. In fact, there is too strongan appeal made to one's selfish feelings and

to the spirit of emulation and the desire for

praise, and not enough to the feeling of per-

sonal responsibility and duty. The attention

is not sufficiently directed to the keen pleas-

ure which comes with the feeling of vigorousintellectual growth, or to the joy of self-im-

provement, or the numerous delights that the

work itself brings, both in the doing of it,

and in the results. They, as it were, gird the

student with cork belts, instead of teaching

[3941


him to swim without help. His difficulties

are all the more unfortunate, because, from

the time that he arrives at his college, he

finds himself absolutely alone. The profess-

or is too far above him, and his parents too

far away. The only thing that the student

has to stimulate him is his vision of the fu-

ture, which is apt to be very indistinct; and

the example of his elders who managed to

get through without very much effort, onlylowers his efficiency. The approach of the

examination is apt to stimulate him to tem-

porary efforts which, however, are always

unsystematic, and which are more like stuf-

fing or cramming than healthy food.

The student may be strengthened from

without by the opinion of his comrades. Un-

fortunately, this opinion, from what we have

been able to see, is apt to glorify, or at least

to affect to glorify every thing other than

work. If a young man really feels that in

order to do well he must have the praise of

other young men, he must not hope for it

from more than a few, a little group carefully

chosen from among the crowd. The student

who makes up his mind that he wants to do

[395]


something more with his life than merelywrite a little essay on the influence of the

songs of Beranger or the poems of Alfred de

Musset, can easily find, if he wishes to, or

else create an environment that will be help-

ful to his plans. There are many young menwho leave college with great aspirations. But,

as Mill * remarks :

' l

Capacity for the nobler

feelings is in most cases a very tender plant,

easily killed, not only by hostile influences,

but by mere want of sustenance; and in the

majority of young persons it speedily dies

away if the occupation to which their posi-

tion in life has devoted them, and the society

into which it has thrown them, are not favor-

able to keeping that higher capacity in exer-

cise. Men lose their high aspirations as

they lose their intellectual tastes because theyhave not time or opportunity for indulging

them, and they addict themselves to inferior

pleasures, not because they deliberately pre-

fer them, but because they are either the onlyones to which they have access, or the onlyones which they are any longer capable of

enjoying."

i Stuart Mill,' '

Utilitarianism,' '

Chap. II.

[396]


The best way to solve the difficulties arising

from the low moral tone of the mass of stu-

dents, would be for those who have the higheraims to form little groups of three or four

of their comrades who would agree to unite

their efforts for their common good. The

professors of the faculty could exercise a

far-reaching influence if they would appre-ciate the greatness of their opportunities and

the influence of their authority with the stu-

dents, but unfortunately the prevailing errors

concerning the role of higher instruction pre-

vents the majority of them from really doingtheir duty. There is a prevailing opinion that

the role of professor in the university differs

essentially from that of a professor in a

lyceum or undergraduate college. The lat-

ter is an educator first and last. The former

is a savant. On the latter devolves the dutyof instructing the mind of the boy and of

molding it if he can; but the former has the

serene indifference of the investigator, whohas no other care than the truth.

Such assertions are neither more nor less

than monstrous. They take for granted ac-

cepted conditions which have never existed.

[397]


They first of all take for granted that the

professor of a faculty is a savant and that he

has no other duties except the pursuit of

science. This pretension might be accepted if

the professor lived only for his science and

by his science and his discoveries, and if he

never went out of his laboratory or his study.

But this is by no means the case, altho he

is a professor in the faculty, he draws his

check each month. This trifling deed which

takes so short a time to perform and which

only occurs twelve times a year, is, neverthe-

less, sufficient to transform the position of

the savant into that of being first and fore-

most a professor, who has duties not only to-

ward science, but toward his students as well.

Thoroughly to appreciate these duties, it is

necessary to comprehend the state of the stu-

dent's mind when he arrives at the university.

The material for such a study can be gath-

ered by critically reviewing our own state of

mind at that time, by collecting the com-

plaints of former graduates exprest in their

letters, the replies of students who are still

at the university, to friends who have beggedthem to write the real truth about things

[398]


which are generally dissimulated, and finally

by the confidences of students that are either

given directly or brought about in a friendly

way, or else that slip out unawares in some

confession or in some innocent remark that

would be fraught with meaning to an observer

who was on the watch.

This state of mind in its general outline

is as follows : During the first weeks the stu-

dent experiences a sense of intoxication, like

that of a prisoner who has just been set at

liberty. This is a negative state in certain

respects ;it is a feeling of utter freedom from

restraint. To prove to himself that he is ab-

solutely free to do as he likes, nearly everystudent exercises this liberty by making a

noise and by sitting far into the night at a

restaurant or some such place. How proudhe is the next day to boast of having come in

at 2 o'clock in the morning! . * . The

majority of students of the weak-willed,

mediocre order will continue this stupid, fa-

tiguing, profitless life through their whole

course. The stronger natures quickly get

hold of themselves. Then the lack of moneycomes into the question and soon forces the

[399]


poorer students to change this kind of ex-

istence and to break with their lazy compan-ions. It is by reason of this very salutary

restraint that the taste for a higher life is

often awakened in men who have fine minds

but weak wills. These are the only two

classes of students who deserve the interest

of their professors; fortunately, they are

worthy of his efforts, and generally do himcredit.

Once the students have become accustomed

to their liberty, and the foolish intoxication

of the first days has passed away and the

young people have come to themselves, they

begin to feel terribly lonely. A few see

clearly what the matter is. At this age the

need of strong moral support is very great,

and young men naturally seek as friends

those whom they feel will have the same as-

pirations as their own. It would be easy to

form such groups as those of which we have

spoken if the courageous young men would

rise up boldly and strike a blow at the tyrannyof other people's opinion, which obliges them

to appear to be what in reality they are

struggling hard not to be. How many of

[400]


them, through timidity or lack of moral cour-

age, repeat formulae which they feel to be

untrue, pretending to take a cynical mediocre

view of life, which they really do not have,and affecting a coarseness which is distaste-

ful to them at first, but to which, alas! theysoon become accustomed.

But these groups of congenial students are

not enough, unless one at least, of the com-

pany has an exceptionally strong moral na-

ture, which is hardly possible to expect at

this age. Each individual feels the need of

some support from above, of some personal

approbation, coming from some one higherthan himself. It is this intensely human need

which the Catholic Church satisfies by its

confessors. But in the university, there is

nothing like it. The student is completelyabandoned. But, when one remembers the

profound admiration that the students feel

for their masters, when one has tested the

strength of their faith, for all that the mas-

ters may not have talents worthy of it, one

can not help but be profoundly saddened to

think that no use whatsoever is made of this

feeling. The professor knows hardly any-

[401]


thing of his students, he knows nothing of

their family, nothing of their antecedents,

nothing of their desires, or their aspirations,

or their dreams of the future. If he could

but suspect how much importance would be

attached to a single word of encouragementor a good council or even friendly reproachin these blest hours of one's twentieth year!If the university, with its superior moral cul-

ture and its profound science would but bor-

row from the Catholic Church all the percep-

tion that an intimate knowledge of the humanheart has suggested to this wonderful insti-

tution, it could govern the heart of youthwithout dispute and without rival. When one

thinks of what Fichte and the German pro-

fessors, in spite of their ignorance of psy-

chology, have been able to do for the powerof Germany, simply by the perfect ability to

work together and by the influence of man to

man upon their students, one is heartbroken

to see nothing being done here, altho move-

ments ten times as strong would be possible

with our young men.

See what has happened in France, and

what has been accomplished by an energetic

[402]


man, conscious of the goal which he had set

before him. He knew, first of all, how to

gather the students together into groups.

Then, having created several groups, all that

he did was to tell them very clearly the in-

ternational work that the youths of France

should take upon themselves; but these con-

cise formulae, pronounced by a man wholoved young people, have been like a power-ful magnet drawing into the same direction

innumerable forces, which, until then, had

been in a state of anarchy, and which were

destroying themselves by their own contra-

dictions. Now, if what M. Lavisse has done,

each professor would do for the chosen spir-

its among his own pupils, the results obtained

would go beyond our dearest hopes. The

teaching body would be able to create in the

country that aristocracy of which we have

already spoken, an aristocracy of strong char-

acters ready for noble undertakings.

[403]


II

The second postulate, which we deny and

which is based upon the habitual conception

that everybody has of higher education, is

the identity of erudition and science. Stu-

dents complain of the enormous mass of un-

digested materials which they have to as-

similate, and they also complain of their lack

of experience of good methods of work.

These two complaints belong together. If

the student has not good methods of work,the fact is due to the absurd way in which his

studies are organized. It seems to be ac-

cepted as an axiom, that once a student leaves

the university he will never do any morework. The result is, that as long as they have

him there, they try to pour into him, as if

he were a cask, all the stuff that they can

possibly make him hold. They require his

memory to perform almost superhuman feats.

And how encouraging are the results of this

method! The great majority of young menare disgusted with work, once for all. This

fine way of doing things implies, moreover,

[404]


what is false, that everything that one learns

will stay in the memory. As if it were not

only that which is frequently repeated which

stays, and as if this frequent repetition could

be extended to cover a whole encyclopedia!It is, however, quite useless to discuss every

phase of the drawbacks attendant upon

higher education such as it is made by the

necessity of foolish, meaningless examina-

tions. It will be enough to point out the key-

stone which holds the system in place. This

keystone is the false idea which one has con-

cerning the nature of science and the value of

a scientific mind and the essential qualities of

the investigator, as well as his method of

transmitting science to one's disciples. Ger-

many has done us much harm in communi-

cating to us her false conceptions on these

points. No, erudition is not science! It is

so far from being that, it is quite the oppo-site. The word science immediately suggeststo us the idea of accumulated knowledge,while it ought to suggest to us the idea of

a strong, vigorous mind, full of initiative, but

extremely careful in verification. The ma-

jority of savants of the first order as well as

[405]


great discoverers are much more ignorant

than their pupils. They could not even be

true savants unless their minds were very

free, for the condition of all discovery is,

above all, an indefatigable mental activity in

a given direction. We have already quoted

(I, ii) the celebrated reply, which Newtonmade to those who asked for the secret of

his successful method. We have shown Dar-

win as denying himself all reading which did

not bear upon the subject of his meditation,

and during nearly thirty years bringing his

curious mind to bear on all the facts which

might possibly enter as vital elements into

the organization of his system. The powerof infinitely patient and discerning medita-

tion and a critical spirit always on the watch,

these are what make a truly learned man.

And with this patience and this attention al-

ways pointing toward the same end, one must

have, in order to sustain them, the passion of

truth and sustained enthusiasm.

Erudition, on the contrary, tends to makethe mind dull. A quantity of little facts en-

cumber the memory. The man with a supe-

rior mind leaves these, as far as possible, to

[406]


his notes. The honor of being an animated

dictionary does not tempt him. He tries to

keep the main ideas of his research free; he

subjects them to severe criticism, and if theywill stand long tests, he adopts them and lets

them slowly grow; he loves them, and once

made living realities, they cease to be dead,

passive ideas in thought and become active,

vigorous powers. Thenceforward, the idea

first suggested by the study of facts will, in

its turn, organize facts. Like a magnet that

attracts iron filings and arranges them in

regular order, the idea infuses order into dis-

order, makes a work of art out of a shape-less mass, and a building of the scattered ma-

terials. Facts without apparent importancewill be brought into the light; superfluous

facts will be cast aside with disdain. A manwho has the happiness to have thus duly veri-

fied a few ideas, which are capable of becom-

ing the active agents of powerful organiza-tions of facts, is a great man.

Therefore, the power of the savant is not

in proportion to the number of facts he has

amassed. It is in proportion to his capacity

for research and adventure, if I may thus

[407]


call it, which is constantly controlled by a

severe criticism. The number of facts is

nothing, their quality is everything. This is

what is too often forgotten in higher educa-

tion. It rarely ever develops strength of

judgment, or a mind which is at the same time

both bold and prudent. Young people are

overloaded with ideas of very unequal value;

they only cultivate their memory, with the

result that they forget the essential thing,

which is, and we do not hesitate to repeat it

once again, the initiative spirit allied to me-

thodical doubt. Note that examinations are

really very easy affairs, when we come to

analyze the actual state of things, both for

the pupil and for the master. For the for-

mer, a conscientious "cramming" will makea very creditable show. As for the examiner,it is very much easier for him to ascertain

whether the student knows this or that or

still another fact than to form a judgment

upon the quality of his mind. The examina-

tion becomes a lottery. Let any one verify

these assertions by the monstrous programof the first year of medicine or that of the

licentiate degree of natural sciences or that

[408]


of the licentiate of history, without speakingof the majority of examinations which applyto other subjects, and one will see in all its

crudeness this fatal tendency to transform

higher education into mere cultivation of the

memory.1

In view of this fact, the professors must

be made to realize that the courses are not

the best things in their instruction. Neces-

sarily fragmentary in themselves, without

any connection with the other forces, theydo not amount to a great deal, and the best

course in the world, after one has left the

lyceum (and often even before), is not worth

as much as a few hours of sincere personaleffort on the part of the student. It is the

practical work which gives the greatest value

to higher education. It is the contact with

1 1 defy a man of good sense to read without indignationthe list of questions which were put to the candidates of the

Polytechnique and of Saint Cyr. It would seem as tho theywanted to discourage every mind of any value from en-

tering these schools, which can not be entered in any other

way. The school of war itself, instead of encouragingefforts that require reflective work, substitute efforts of

exaggerated memory. Compare( ( La Nouvelle Eevue

;La mis'

sion sociale de 1 'officer.' '

July 1 and 15, 1893.

[409]


other students and with the master. First,

by the very fact that he is there, the master

proves the possibility of work. He is the liv-

ing, concrete, tangible and respected exampleof what can be done by working. On the

other hand, his conversations, his encourage-

ments, his confessions, his semi-confidences

over his methods, and more than all that, his

example in the laboratory; the initiative of

the encouraged student, the personal workthat is cited, the expositions before his com-

rades, the clear and simple descriptions of

books read, all this performed under the

kindly control of the master, is what consti-

tutes inspiring instruction. The more bril-

liant a professor is, and the more he enjoys

hearing himself talk, and the more he argues,

the less willingly would I confide young peo-

ple to him; he must be able to make themi l

trot before him,' ' as Montaigne said :

* Oneno more learns the art of working, nor

makes any true progress in scientific work,

by listening to the professor than one gains

skill and muscle in gymnastics by watchingthe strong man at a circus.

t" Essays," I. XXV.

[410]


As has been seen, the two essential needs

of the student, the need of moral direction,

and the need of methodical direction of work,have a common remedy in the intimate rela-

tion of the professor and the pupil. The pro-

fessor himself will find his own reward in

this, for in arousing scientific enthusiasm in

his disciples, he will strengthen his own. Onthe other hand, he will be overwhelminglyconvinced that the great movements of

thought accomplished in the world have been,

not by the communication of knowledge, but

by the communication of an ardent love for

the truth or for some great cause, and by the

communication of good methods of work.

That is to say, in a word, that influence onlycomes through the contact of man to man,and soul to soul. It was thus that Socrates

taught Plato his method and passed on to

him his enthusiasm for the truth. This also

explains why it is that in Germany men of

great scientific genius have sprung from little

university centers,1 where the professor and

the student have had that soul-to-soul con-

tact of which we have just spoken.i Compare Haeckel,

' ' The Proofs of Transformism,' '

p. 35.

[411]

nINFLUENCE OF THE "DEPARTED GREAT"

IF the intellectual life and the energy of the

will are so strengthened by this living contact

of student and master, the solitary student

may find help of this personal nature, tho to

a lesser degree, through the influence of men

who, tho dead, are at the same time, morealive and more capable of transmitting life

than the living. When one has no opportu-

nity of meeting living, speaking examples,

nothing is worth more for the cultivation of

one's moral enthusiasm than the contempla-tion of pure, simple, heroic lives. This"great cloud of witnesses " helps us to fight

the good fight. In times of calm and solitude,

association with the "great souls of the

greater centuries" has a wonderful effect in

strengthening the will. "I remember,"

says

Michelet, "that when this trouble came, pA-vations of the present, fear of the future, the

enemy being only two steps off (1814), and

my own enemies mocking me every day, one

[412]

INFLUENCE OF "DEPARTED GREAT"

day, a Thursday morning, I gathered myself

together in a huddled heap; without fire (the

snow lay deep over everything), not knowingeven if there would be bread to eat in the

evening, as everything seemed at an end for

me I had within me a purely stoical feel-

ing I struck my oak table with my hand, it

was numb with the cold, but I felt the virile

joy of youth and of the future. Who gave methis vigorous enthusiasm? Those with whomI lived my daily life

; my favorite authors. I

was each day drawn more closely to this noble

society."1 Stuart Mill

2said that his father

loved to put in his hand books which repre-

sented men of energy, who were full of re-

sources in struggling with serious difficulties

which they succeeded in overcoming, books of

travels, "Robinson Crusoe," etc., and fur-

ther on8

he relates the remarkable effect that

was produced on him by the pictures which

Plato drew of Socrates, or Turgot's life of

Condorcet. Such reading can produce the

most profound and lasting impressions.

1 Michelet, "Ma jeunesse,"

page 99.

2 John Stuart Mill,' '

Memoirs,' '

Chap. I, page 8.

8Ibid, page 108.

[413]


Think of the wonderful power that such lead-

ers of thought possess! We see Socrates,

after more than 2,000 years have rolled by,

still preserving his authority and his mar-

velous power of kindling the purest enthu-

siasm in youthful souls.

It is unfortunate that we can not use, as

the Catholic Church does, the lives of the lay

saints for the instruction of young people.

Does not the life of a philosopher like Spinozastir up an extraordinary feeling of admira-

tion in those who read his moving recital?

It is to be regretted that these wonderful

biographies, which are scattered here and

there, have never been united in a single col-

lection ; such a book would be the Plutarch to

which the mental workers could refer in order

to strengthen their energy. The idea of the

calendar of Auguste Comte was an excellent

one; he proposed that each day one should

meditate upon the life of some benefactor of

humanity, to whom that day's thoughts should

be devoted. But has not classical education,

as it is understood, exactly this end in view :

to kindle a calm and lasting enthusiasm for

all that is grand and noble and generous in

[414]

INFLUENCE OF "DEPARTED GREAT"

the minds of students! And has it not at-

tained its end if a chosen few perceive the

high ideal, and can henceforward never stoopto lower things or sink back to the commonlevel ! These chosen few, destined to form the

holy battalion on which the civilized world

fixes its eyes, owes its superiority to long

companionship with the purest human geniusof antiquity.

Unfortunately, altho our better feelings can

be stimulated by this companionship, these

noble dead can not furnish us the more defi-

nite council of which we stand in need, and

nothing can take the place of the spiritual

direction given by an experienced and careful

master.

1415]

CONCLUSION.

The preceding chapters show us how easythe task of mastering self would be, if every-

thing in our national education could be madeto converge toward this great conquest ! For,altho the struggle against laziness and sen-

suality is not easy, it is at least possible, and

the knowledge of our psychological resources

ought to give us confidence. The practical

conclusion to be drawn from the entire workis that we can reform our character

;that we

ourselves can educate our own wills; that

witE time and a knowledge of the laws of our

nature, we are sure to arrive at a high degreeof self-mastery. What the Catholic religion

can accomplish for the nobler natures of hu-

manity enables us to see what could be done

for the finer minds of our own young people ;

for we can not say that the revealed religions

make use of means which are beyond our

power to employ. If we examine the source

of the remarkable power of the churches over

the faithful, we discover that their methods

[416]

CONCLUSION

of action may be separated into two greatdivisions: the purely human methods, and

those that are purely religious in their nature.

The human measures may be reduced to

three, the power of authority, the authority

of men of genius who are dead, the authority

of bishops, priests, theologians, etc., and in

former times, even the civil authority, which

placed at the disposal of the church the powerof imprisonment, torture, and burning at the

stake. To this power, which, to-day, is much

diminished, was added all the weight of pub-lic opinion, the hatred and contempt and per-

secution of the believers toward the non-be-

lievers. Finally, from infancy a religious

education molds the child, and by repetitions

in every form, oral instruction, reading, pub-lic ceremonies, etc., impresses a religious sen-

timent most profoundly on his soul.

Now could not we use these three powersto even a better advantage than the churches ?

Is there not perfect harmony among thinkers

of all orders on this great question of the per-

fection of self? Is it possible to have dissen-

tion as in religious dogmas? We are in

charge of the education of the child. And

[417]


if our methods could be brought together; if

we but knew the end to pursue, would not our

power become enormous ! Could we not mold

the soul of the child according to our ownideas ! As for public opinion, education must

change that. The admiration of the multi-

tude is already often bestowed upon what is

great and generous. Noble feelings are the

cause of union between men and tend to for-

tify themselves more rapidly than others

which are the cause of dissensions. That is

why we often see a crowd composed largely

of rascals applauding an honest speech. Fur-

thermore, public opinion is easily led, and a

minority of energetic, honest men is enoughto turn it in the right direction. What theywere able to do in Athens for beauty and for

talent and in Sparta for self-renunciation,

could not modern society accomplish with

even less effect for a still more noble object!

But, it is said that no great work of moral

improvement is possible if its foundations

are not based upon religious truth. We be-

lieve this, but we also believe that the only

religious truth that is necessary and suffi-

cient, is to admit that the universe and human

[418]

CONCLUSION

life are not without a moral end, and that no

effort for good is lost. We have seen above *

that this theory is based on sound judgment,and that in the last analysis one must neces-

sarily choose between it and the opposite

theory. Whichever choice one makes, one

can not prove it experimentally. Choice for

choice, it is better to choose the side which has

the strongest presumptions in its favor; all

the more, not only because the mere hy-

pothesis seems more likely to be true, and is

the only one that is comprehensive to us

and at the same time consoling and socially

indispensable. This minimum of religious

truth may become for thinking minds an

abundant source of powerful religious feel-

ings. This belief, while in nowise denying

anything in revealed religions, can include

their beliefs, as a genus includes all its spe-

cies. Furthermore, this minimum of religious

belief hardly being enough for any but culti-

vated minds, the thinker will look upon re-

ligions as allied with it and working toward

the same end, and will tolerate them, in so

far, at least, as to maintain a scrupulous re-

i See above Book III, Chap. I, Sec. IV.

[419]


spect for differing opinions. We use the

word allied because religions have taken as

their essential task, the struggle against the

animal nature in man;that is to say, in fact,

the education of the will forms the point of

view of the domination of reason over the

brutal forces of selfish sensibility.

We can not help, therefore, but be struck

with the conviction that any man can finally

attain complete mastery over himself if he

will but take advantage of the aids which time

and his own psychological resources offer

him. As this great work is possible, it should,

by reason of its importance, take the fore-

most place in our thoughts. Our happiness

depends on the education of our wills, for

happiness consists in being able to extract all

the joy that we possibly can from our hap-

piest ideas and feelings in preventing un-

pleasant thoughts and emotions from gainingaccess to consciousness, or at least prevent-

ing them from overrunning it. Happiness

presupposes, therefore, that one is to a very

great degree master of one's attention, which

is the highest expression of the will.

But it is not only our happiness which de-

[420]

CONCLUSION

pends upon the degree of power which w^

acquire over self, but still further our highestintellectual culture. Genius is first of all in-

finite patience: the scientific and literary

works which distinguish the greatest humanintellect are not due to the superiority of the

intelligence, as is generally believed, but to

the superiority of a will that expresses ad-

mirable control. It is from this point of view

that we should readjust from its very founda-

tions our methods of undergraduate and

higher education. It is very important to

abolish the foolish principle of cultivating the

memory exclusively, for this is weakening the

vital forces of the nation. We shall have to

plunge into the inextricable thickets of the

curriculums of all the schools with a hatchet,

so that we may cut out the tangle on everyside to let in the daylight and the air, and wemust be willing sometimes even to sacrifice

some beautiful plants which are too crowdedand which will never grow. Instead of en-

couraging feats of memory* we must substi-

1 This substitution is sometimes very easy, thus M. Couat,rector of Bordeaux, president of the examining jury on

grammar, proposes, in his report of 1892 (" Revue universi-

[421]


tute active exercise and work which will de-

velop the power of judgment and intellectual

initiative and vigorous deductions. It is by

cultivating the will that men of genius are

made, for all those higher qualities which are

attributed to the intelligence are in reality

qualities of energy and of constancy of will.

In our century we have brought all our

efforts to bear upon the conquest of the out-

side world, with the result that we have

doubled our sense of covetousness and stimu-

lated our desires, and we are, in consequence,more restless and worried and unhappy than

ever before. This is because these exterior

conquests have turned our attention from our

interior improvement. We have thrust the

essential work, the education of our will, to

one side; we have thus by an inconceivable

deviation left to chance the care of tempering

taire," 15 December, 1892), to do away with the tabulated

lists of certain passages from authors to be read. Instead

of thoroughly preparing such or such required texts, one

would be obliged to be thoroughly versed in Latin or Greek.

The oral examinations would necessarily be less brilliant,

but who can not see that this change would require the

student to do real intellectual work, instead of merely

memorizing texts.

[422]

CONCLUSION

this instrument, which is the most powerfulone for our intellectual power and our happi-

ness.

In addition, social questions make it abso-

lutely necessary to modify our system of edu-

cation. These questions are only hard to

solve and of pernicious influence because

one has neglected, as much at the primaryschool as at the college, to give moral educa-

tion precedence over the education of the

will. Most excellent rules of conduct are

offered to young men who have never been

taught the art of living well, to selfish, iras-

cible, lazy, sensual men who, often, it is true,

wish to correct themselves, but who, owingto this disastrous theory of free will which

discourages their good intentions, have never

learned that liberty and the mastery of self

must be accomplished little by little. No one

has taught them that if they will only use the

proper measures, the conquest of self is pos-

sible, even in the most desperate cases. Noone has taught them the tactics which will

lead them to victory. No one has stirred

within them the desire to gird themselves for

this great struggle. They do not know how

[423]


noble the mastery of self is in itself, nor howrich it is in results that make for happinessand the highest mental culture. If each one

would take the trouble to think about the im-

portance of this work, and of the overflowing

generosity with which the slightest efforts in

its favor are rewarded, he would not only give

it the first place among personal and public

interests, but would set it far above all others

as the most important and the most urgentof all undertakings.

THE END.

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the education of the will - jules payot

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